TRIBUTES
by swifters
Summary: A series of Danny whump centered short stories inspired by random episodes of various TV shows through the years. Expect Danny whump, occasional Steve whump, plenty of angst, hurt/comfort and bromance! First three stories complete.
1. Tribute 1: Left Behind (chapter 1)

OK, I'm just doing this for fun so don't shoot me. There were a few episodes of a few shows I watched when I was a kid that got me into the whumping thing. I thought it might be fun to borrow elements and build something new around them in the style of whumpy H50 episodes. NOT stealing whole plots, producing something hopefully original but inspired by/tribute to- you get the idea. Don't like the concept? Please don't read it!

This will be a series of short, multi-chapter stories in which there will be Danny whump, Steve angst, and of course hurt/comfort and bromance! Some will even have a bit of Steve whump and Danny angst, just to mix it up a bit...

There will be prizes of honor and glory for anyone who recognizes the show/episode I'm borrowing from, and I'll come clean at the end. Just for fun, remember, not claiming anyone else's work as my own so no shouting! Here is attempt number 1 in which the Danny whump is largely psychological... And warning- there is swearing. No gratuitous violence for a change though.

Thank you Irene Claire for the high speed beta and the general greatness :)

LEFT BEHIND

Chapter 1

Danny Williams woke up abruptly to the smell of strong disinfectant. He blinked his eyes a few times, focusing slowly on unfamiliar surroundings. A white ceiling. A strip light set behind a sheet of plexi-glass. He felt vague and confused, un-co-ordinated. Trying to think was like trying to swim through mud. He flexed his arms but they felt heavy. He couldn't move for some reason.

He turned his head to the side. The wall beside his bed was padded. That was unexpected. He tried to focus closer in, on his own body. It took a few seconds for his pupils to respond. When they finally caught up with his brain, he saw that his wrist was in a padded restraint attached to the frame of the bed. He shifted a little, trying to make sense of another sensation. A catheter. Great. There was a drip set up near his head, a clear liquid drip, drip, dripping down through a tube, snaking towards the back of his hand. He watched the liquid, trying to understand.

He didn't know what he was meant to feel. He didn't feel scared. He just felt numb, slow.

A noise made him turn his head, his reaction lagging several seconds behind. Before he could search for the source of the noise a face materialized in front of him. It was a face he knew and he frowned, trying to remember. A doctor. Doctor Collins? Yes. Doctor Collins from Queen's Medical Center. A psychiatrist? He and Steve had spoken to him about a suspect once. One of his patients.

He tried to remember how to talk. His throat, his mouth, his lips were dry. Sore. And they felt like they were coated in cotton wool. His tongue felt too big for his mouth. He made some aborted attempts to form words, only succeeding in producing a strange, croaky noise.

He closed his eyes for a moment, attempting to concentrate, then had another go.

"Wh't h'ppen?" he managed to grate out. His voice sounded weak, unused.

"Danny, you're safe. No one's going to hurt you here." The man's voice was familiar. Strong and calm. Soothing.

A spoon appeared in front of Danny's face.

Dr Collins' face was behind it, smiling kindly. "Ice chips. This will help."

Danny obediently opened his mouth, closing his eyes at the pleasant sensation as the ice began to melt.

"Danny. What do you remember?"

Danny stared dumbly at Collins. He blinked a few times then reached into his mind, searching. What _did_ he remember? Ramirez. The Ramirez case. He had gone to meet an informant, pick up something from him. Financials. He could remember leaving the RV, an intersection on a quiet road, heading back towards HQ. Then…nothing.

"I.." he croaked, then cleared his throat. "I was at work. What happened? Where am I?"

"You're at Queen's, Danny."

That made sense when a doctor from Queen's was by his side. But why? And what was with the padded walls? Danny tried to formulate a question to that effect in his head but didn't quite succeed.

Collins calming voice interrupted his train of thought. "Danny, there was a car accident. Do you remember?"

Danny closed his eyes reflexively as a flash of screeching tires, smashing glass, people screaming, came to him. His stomach lurched, but the memory went away. Something blocked it out as fast as it had come.

"What happened?" he whispered.

"You crashed your car. Danny, you suffered serious injuries."

That sounded bad. He suddenly yearned for a more familiar face. "What? When? Where is everyone, where's Steve? Where's Grace?" His voice quavered with uncertainty, confusion.

The doctor placed a hand gentle on Danny's arm and looked into his eyes with such compassion that Danny's guts turned to stone. "I'm so sorry, Danny. Commander McGarrett didn't make it. He was killed outright. You suffered head injuries. You were left in a coma as a result."

Danny blinked at him. "Wh-what?"

"You were out for nearly six months altogether..."

"No!" Danny croaked, cutting him off. He looked around himself again, suddenly frantic in spite of whatever drugs might have been in the process of easing into his system. He shook his head. None of that could be true. It _couldn't_ be true. It _wasn't_ true, because no way did they stick coma patients in padded cells. And anyway, Steve hadn't even been in the car with him!

The doctor evidently predicted his train of thought. "Danny. Listen to me carefully. The things you're remembering happened a full month before the accident. You've lost some time. And afterwards, when you came out of the coma, when you remembered what had happened, you struggled to come to terms with it. You had a breakdown. You've been here ever since for your own safety. But you _are_ safe."

No. Just no. Danny stared at him, eyes wide, breaths coming ever faster. He shook his head again, because it just wasn't possible. Another image came to him. Blood. Blood on his hands. Flashing blue lights. He was gasping for air now, panic rising.

Dr Collins squeezed his arm, casting an eye up towards the medication that was drip, dripping into his vein before looking into his eyes again. "I know this is hard to take in. We've been here before, Danny. It's so important you stay calm and try to start accepting what has happened."

Danny shook his head again, because how the hell was he meant to stay calm when he was hearing all of this? What was he meant to think? "I..I need," he stuttered breathlessly, voice trembling, "I need to see Grace. L…let me see my daughter. Where is she?"

Dr Collins was silent for a moment, lips thinning into a narrow line, concern written all over his face. "We should really talk more when you're feeling calmer. Danny's heart was pounding now, because if Steve was really dead, not that _that_ was true, who the hell had been taking care of his daughter? "No!" he shouted. "Where's Grace, what's happened to Grace! Tell me!"

Collins patted his arm now. "Don't worry. Grace is fine, Danny. She's safe and she's fine. And so are you. Just keep calm."

"No, I need to see her, NOW!" he yelled, now yanking on his restraints.

Dr Collins closed his eyes for a second. When he spoke again, his voice was low. "Danny, I need you to understand something. You suffered a brain injury in the accident. Sometimes a patient's personality can be affected by that sort of trauma. You….you displayed some violent tendencies while you were trying to come to terms with what had happened."

Danny's distress was ramping up exponentially. "No! I would never hurt Gracie, never!"

Dr Collins shook his head, smiling again. "Of course not! No. But your ex-wife felt…., " he hesitated, looking like he was struggling to come up with the right words, "Your ex-wife felt it was upsetting for Grace to see you when you were so…fragile. The decision was made that it would be best for her to stay away until you were well again."

Danny sagged down suddenly, blinking a few times, the complete and utter nightmare of a scenario that was being spelled out to him proving entirely overwhelming as he tried to comprehend it. He panted out an involuntary whimper of distress, then whispered, "I don't...I don't understand. Can..can I speak to Rachel? Please?"

Dr Collins sighed. "Her instructions were explicit. She wishes to be contacted when you have recovered and not before. There's been no further contact with her since they moved away."

"Moved away?" Danny echoed in shock.

"Yes. I the family relocated to England. A fresh start for your daughter, I understand" Dr Collins' voice was patient but matter-of-fact.

"But, but, they can't have! She's not allowed to take Grace, we have joint custody! I don't believe you. I don't believe any of this. I need to speak to someone. Chin Ho Kelly….or Kono. Kono Kalakaua or Lou Grover..? Please?" He was shouting again now, shouting and pulling at those restraints, itching to be loose, itching to get the hell out of there and find out for himself what had happened.

Collins stood back, eyeing him cautiously. "Just stay calm Danny. I'll see what I can do, okay? It's hard for everyone concerned. So much time has passed."

Danny froze, looking Collins in the eye. "What? What do you mean?"

Collins blinked a few times before taking a deep breath and nodding once. "Danny, you've been here for three years now."

Danny stared in shock. Just no way. No way could that be true. He shook his head, just a little at first but then violently. "No!" he screamed, "No! You're lying. Let me go, let me out of here!" He yelled, yanking on the restraints violently, face reddening with the effort.

Collins moved immediately to the door and pressed a red button, then stood, staying well back. "Calm down, Danny. You're going to be fine."

His words were meant to be calming, but Danny could hear the fear behind them and it made him lose the plot entirely. "You're lying! What the hell is going on! Let me go! What have you done with them?" he screamed, struggling desperately to break free. He felt something give in one of his arm restraints, heard Collins gasp in shock.

But then the door opened. More figures in white coats came in, running towards Danny in a blur of movement. Then there were hands on him, pinning him down, shouting in his face. He felt a sharp prick in his arm and a cold, cold feeling spread down his body. He gasped for breath, still making abortive attempts to break free until his body would listen to him no more.

He lay there as they released him. His eyelids fluttered shut and his surroundings started to drift away, but for a few long moments he could still hear. And there was no mistaking the words exchanged beside him.

"He out?"

"Yep. Here we go again."

"I know. I don't think we're ever going to break him out of this cycle. As soon as he accepts what's happened and we start to make progress, that's when he realizes McGarrett's death was his fault and that no one he knows has ever been able to forgive him….and he just can't cope. He breaks down again and we have to begin all over."

We just have to keep trying, if we get the balance of sedatives and anti-depressants right, maybe…"

Everything faded away.


	2. Tribute 1: Left Behind (chapter 2)

**Thank you so much for the reviews etc, made me smile lots :)**

 **Lovesanimals- good guess but no, it's not an SG-1 tribute...waaaay older than that particular series (which I did really like too!).**

LEFT BEHIND

CHAPTER 2

"Okay. You're doing really well, Danny."

Danny didn't feel like he was doing really well. Nothing seemed real, partly, he assumed, due to the thick, drug-induced haze he now lived in. His head was filled with cotton wool, every thought an effort, every movement an effort.

When he had come round after that first re-awakening he could remember what he had overheard with crystal clear clarity. He had screamed and he had cried and he had _demanded_ to know what had happened, what he'd done. He was completely and totally bewildered, terrified. But, thanks to the careless conversation beside him, everything added up. It made sense, even if he remembered absolutely none of it.

No wonder no one was here with him, everybody _hated_ him. They had all moved on, left him behind, unforgiven- a bad memory and unnecessary reminder of whatever had happened to Steve.

 _He had killed Steve._ It was his fault. They still wouldn't say what had happened, said he wasn't ready. It would be too much for him. Told him he had one thing to focus on; Gracie. Dangling in front of him, tantalizingly out of reach, was the promise that one day, maybe, Rachel might allow him to see Gracie. When he was 'better'. When he was no longer a danger to…her? Himself? He felt sick.

Danny needed to know so badly, he needed to know how he'd screwed up. He needed to know if he really might see Gracie again one day, if she would ever even _want_ to see him. She had loved her Uncle Steve so much. She must _loathe_ her Danno now. She'd never forgive him. He would never, _never_ forgive himself. _Steve_. The specter of grief for the loss of his friend followed his every thought, waiting to destroy him if he looked it in the face. He wasn't ready for that. Wouldn't ever be ready for that. But he had to know how bad it was. He had to know what he'd done.

Now each time his tenuous grip on his emotions began to slip Collins would drug him even more, pump him full of whatever-the-fuck to make him drift between sleep and his waking nightmare. Each time he awoke the pain and shock of loss and guilt seemed to intensify. He had lost all concept of time, now. It felt like he had been in that small, 'safe', horror-filled room forever.

But Collins said he _had_ to stay calm. That was the number one rule. And it was so, so hard. He trembled with the effort. He was still on an IV, carefully maintaining exactly the right balance of drugs in his system to help prevent him from losing it entirely. Again, apparently. To stop him spiraling back down into darkness. But part of him longed for that blackness because this reality really, really sucked. He hovered around the edge of the big, black pit in his memory where all the horrors must lie, wanting to see what was there but so, so scared of what he might find.

However, Danny might have been lost in some kind of hell but he was still smart. He was learning. Being trained, he supposed. He was _trying_ so hard. He was trying to play their game, the staying calm thing. Trying to do what they said he had to do, or at least make it look like he was. He tried to suppress his feelings, to hide his pain behind a calm facade. He jumped through their hoops so they would think he was getting better, so they would tell him what had happened.

He sat through Collins' therapy sessions, which seemed to come thick and fast, whenever he was anywhere even approaching conscious. Collins said he was trying to help Danny re-awaken his own memories. Apparently it was part of the healing process. Danny played along. He hated it, it was driving him _crazy_ , talking endlessly about irrelevant facts when his life had just disintegrated around him.

But apparently this was progress. Collins had to be pleased with him because he was no longer restrained. At least when he was supervised he was no longer restrained. He was even allowed to use the little toilet in the corner of the room instead of having a tube stuck up his dick. Progress.

He felt so alone. He wished with all his heart that someone, one of his friends, would find it in themselves to come and visit. But then he thought of Kono looking at him with disgust, disappointment, even hate in her eyes and it made his guts churn, his head pound, the ever present lump in his throat grow bigger and bigger.

Danny could hear Collins speaking again, praising him with that low, soothing, melodic voice. He wanted to punch Collins square in his sympathetic, supportive face. He wanted to scream at him, _make_ him say what had happened. He wanted to run. Jump on a plane. Fly to England, to Grace. At least run to 5-0, to the offices. He wanted to say he was so, so sorry for whatever the hell he had done. He wanted to go to Steve's house. To sit on one of those two chairs facing out to sea, where he and Steve had sat together so many times. He wanted to turn to the other and to see if it was true, that Steve really wasn't there.

His face crumpled, eyes filling. He inhaled raggedly, then choked. He froze, feeling like he was hanging on the edge of oblivion again.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Dr. Collins' eyes.

"Danny. I know this is so hard. I want you to deliberately not think about the bigger picture here. We need to work through one thing at a time or it's just going to be too hard to cope. Just focus on what you have to do to see your daughter again. You need to ground yourself. You need to let yourself remember what's happened one step at a time. You need to learn to remain calm. Do you understand?

Danny nodded, gulping in air. He looked around him, trying to focus on something other than the thoughts rattling around in his head. The soft contours of the wall. The strip light above him, sealed behind its plexi-glass sheet. The starchy blankets of the bed he sat on, cross-legged. His own legs, clad in generic white pajama bottoms. He put up a hand to run his fingers through his hair, almost jumping when he touched it because it was clipped short, almost shaved to his skull. He'd forgotten again, already. Head injuries. Operations on his brain. Of course he had no hair. He wrapped his arms around himself and his body felt strange to him. Thin and weak.

"OK, Danny. I want you to relax. Here, this will help."

Danny watched dully as Collins produced a syringe, gently swabbed his arm then pushed the needle under his skin. He couldn't even feel it. His body was too numb. He stared at the pinprick of blood left behind, knowing the effect the stuff would have. It did make him relax in a way, but it also made him feel like he was deep underwater, far from his own body. Made him feel like he was watching himself speak, like he couldn't control the words that came out.

The drug seeped into his system and his head began to spin, his vision blur.

Collins touched Danny's cheek, moving his face so he had to meet the doctor's eyes. "Now I want you to talk to me. Tell me about the last thing you remember for sure again. Remember, sorting out your thoughts and your memories is the first step towards seeing Grace again. Keep focused on that."

Danny puffed out a shaky breath, vaguely registering that he had told Collins this _already_. But he nodded obediently, lowering his head and trying to focus on that spot of blood again. He started to speak, not really conscious of what he was going to say, barely recognizing his own slow, slurring speech. "W…we were working the Ramirez case. I got a call from an informant. Said he might have something. I met him and he gave me this…this folder of documents. I had a look. It was financial transactions I think. I had a look through and they looked useful. I took them and headed back to the office. That's…I don't really remember more. Flashes of stuff... but it doesn't seem real. More like a dream. Please tell me what happened."

"Not yet, Danny. Just relax and try, see if there's anything else."

Danny shook his head groggily, mute. It felt like they had gone over this a million times.

Collins seemed to read his mind. "Okay. Now I realize it feels like we're going in circles. I'm trying to establish if your memory is improving at all. You know that. I said that. I want you to give me more details. Anything. It doesn't need to be important. People's clothes. Noises, smells. Tell me more about the Ramirez case for example, that's a good starting point. Did you have enough to get him?"

"I think so. Yeah. Steve thought…." He tailed off, grief punching through the narcotic haze. He squeezed his eyes shut hard, gasping for breath.

"OK, it's OK. Take a few deep breaths. You're doing well and that's nearly enough for today. Danny, listen. I have a surprise for you. I contacted Rachel and told her how much progress you've made this time. She has decided to let you speak to Grace on the phone, just for a minute. Does that sound good?"

Danny's eyes shot open. He looked at Collins plaintively, his vision blurring. He nodded dumbly, unable to speak.

"Great. That's so good. Well done, Danny. Just a couple more questions then I'll make it happen for you."

Grace. What would he say to her? He'd killed her Uncle Steve. God only knew what else he'd done when he'd being 'showing violent tendencies'. He must have scared her. He had to say sorry, had to say he loved her so much.

A tear ran down his cheek.

"OK Danny. I'll ask you a few random specific questions. See if it helps jog your memory. Can you remember what you were wearing?"

Danny's lips were trembling, squeezed together tight, as he searched for the irrelevant answer, desperate to just get through it, to just speak to his baby girl. He nodded. "Shirt. Slacks."

Collins smiled at him. "Good, Danny. That's better. Do you remember where you met your informant?"

Danny looked up at the ceiling, praying for the endless questions to stop. "Sure. Out past Kualoa. I…I could show you on a map," he said, hope in his voice, trying to please. Anything, _anything_ that would earn him that phone call.

Collins smirked. "That's okay, Danny. What did you eat for breakfast that day?"

Danny blinked. He had no idea. "Malasadas!" he barked out. It was a guess, but there was a fair chance.

"Well done, Danny. You're doing so well. What was the key piece of evidence that was going to lead to convicting Ramirez?"

"H…his girlfriend, Rosa. Her testimony was….." he tailed off. A sick feeling grew in his stomach because that wasn't something he should talk about. He shouldn't have said that.

"Danny, you don't have to worry, remember, this all happened three years ago. It's over. It's only your memory we're interested in. And you've done so well. So, so well. One more question and I'll get Gracie on the phone for you right away. Just one last question and you can speak to your daughter."

Danny nodded, another tear tracking down his face. He looked down at his shaking hands.

"Your team had the girlfriend moved somewhere safe. Where did you send her?"

Danny shook his head slowly from side to side. He shouldn't say. That was programmed into him. But his mouth opened anyway of its own accord. The words nearly fell out. She was with Kamekona. She was hiding out at his place. With a gargantuan effort he managed to stop himself from speaking because he needed to _think._ It would be so easy to come out and say it. She wouldn't be with Kamekona anymore, after all, he reminded himself. _3 years ago_ she had been hiding out with Kamekona. So what was the harm in telling Collins? None. And he _had_ to say. He _had_ to speak to Gracie, he had to say sorry. So why did it still feel wrong? He frowned in confusion, then buried his woozy head in his hands. He didn't know what to do.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Danny. It's OK. This all happened so long ago. I just need to find out how well you remember these things. Just so I know if you're well enough to speak to Grace yet. That's all. You have to earn back Rachel's trust, Danny, if you want to see your daughter again. And I'm helping you get to where that can happen. All you have to do is do what I say. That's all. Can you do that Danny?"

Collins sat down beside Danny on the bed when he didn't reply, hand still on his shoulder. "You can do it, Danny," he gushed, "You are doing so, so well. Tell me and you get to speak to Grace. Nothing bad will happen. The case was dealt with a long time ago. Ramirez was locked up. He'll be in Halava for another twenty years yet. His girlfriend is married with a baby. Lives in California, I think. She's safe. I just need to know how well your mind is working, Danny. Tell me. For Grace."

Danny's heart pounded because everything felt so _wrong._ He felt under so much pressure. It felt almost like an _interrogation._ "I don't remember," he whispered, trembling with the effort of controlling his words.

The doctor sighed deeply.

"Don't worry. You need some more rest. We'll try again later, okay?" He stood, reaching up to adjust Danny's drip. "More of this will help. And I'll give you another injection before I go too. We'll get there, Danny. We're almost there."

"Wait." Danny looked up at him in shock. "Wait! What about Grace?"

"You're not ready yet, Danny. Just relax." Collins moved to reapply the restraints, taking hold of Danny's arm.

Danny snatched his arm away, glaring at Collins as best as he could. "No! Don't. Please. I want to know what happened. Tell me what happened and let me speak to my daughter. _This isn't fair._ "

Dr. Collins shook his head. "You're getting upset Danny. You know the first rule. You keep calm. If you fight me, there is no _way_ you'll ever see Grace again. We need to take a break. Perhaps you'll do better after a few hours' sleep. We just have to restrain you so you remain _safe._ I'll adjust your medication to help you avoid this kind of illogical behavior."

Danny's face crumpled. He had been so close to hearing his little girl's voice again. He sobbed, hot tears stinging his eyes. He shook his head because he was trying so, so hard to be good and his treatment seemed so unjust.

Maybe Collins had a point about Danny having aggressive tendencies, because, right then, he felt a fury rising up through his drug-clouded thoughts. He stared at Collins groggily as the anger grew. Adrenaline finally punched through the numbing haze and he actually snarled. He reached out and grabbed the doctor's arm, squeezing hard, _desperate_ for answers. He just couldn't wait any longer.

"Let me go Danny. Rachel won't like this," Collins warned, grimacing in pain.

But Danny gritted his teeth, determined. "No! Tell me what I did! I have a right to know! Tell me what I've done to deserve this. _Please!_ TELL ME!"

Something changed in Collins' face. There was a flicker of anger, just for a fleeting moment. He bent down, putting his mouth to Danny's ear.

"OK, Danny, okay. You really want to know? I'll tell you." He hissed. "You're not ready for this, but I see you're not going to try for me until this is out of the way. You had a fight with Rachel, Danny. She was going to leave Stan and she wanted to go and stay with her mother in England. But you didn't want her to take Grace away, Danny. You fought. You were upset. Very upset. She threw you out. You went home and you got drunk. Steve, he was such a good friend. Your best friend, right? He got worried about you. He'd tried to phone you. He went to your house and he found you. What happened next? We don't really know. He can't tell us because he's dead. I know what your team think. They think that you got into an argument with Steve as well because that's the kind of person you are. Angry. Abrasive. You ran and got in your car. He chased you, jumped in too, tried to stop you but you drove off. You were drunk. You crashed the car Danny. Steve died. So did the old lady on the sidewalk you ploughed along. She was 93, just walking to the shops minding her own business. You took her out too Danny. You did all that because you were drunk. You really, really screwed up."

Danny was shaking his head, anger forgotten as he tried to comprehend what he'd just heard. "No, no, no, I wouldn't do that, I wouldn't do that!" he whispered. He released Collins, turning to look him in the eye. "I WOULDN'T DO THAT!" he yelled.

Collin stared at him, lip curling with disgust. "Oh but you did, Danny, you did do that. You want to see the CCTV? He opened his folder and flicked through some sheets of paper, thrusting them in Danny's face. "Look. We kept these for you Danny. What do you want to see? Photos of McGarrett's body? Here! Newspaper articles? Look! Do you like that? 'Detective Williams declared unfit to stand for trial in vehicular homicide case'. That's a good one. Take a look Danny. I'll _make_ you look at every last bit. And now _everybody_ hates you. You killed your own best friend. They all wish you'd died instead. And the only way Rachel and Grace might ever forgive you is if you co-operate with me. Do you understand?"

Danny gulped for air, reeling with absolute horror. He tried to look away, suddenly desperate for escape. From here, from Collins, from _what he'd done to Steve_.

"Now, are you going to answer my questions? You weren't being honest before. You said you didn't remember something but you do. I can tell when you're lying to me Danny."

But Danny was lost, lost in a vision of what he'd done. The tears ran down his cheeks unchecked. He hated himself. He couldn't believe the depths he had sunk to. No wonder his family had abandoned him, his friends hadn't been in to see him. No wonder he had been left behind, alone. He flexed his fingers in distress, absently rubbing his thumbs over his sweat-soaked palms, over his calluses, tracing the rough skin.

Something clicked in his mind and he sucked in a breath, looked down at his hands. He looked back at Collins, trying to _think_ through the haze of drugs. His heart was beating so fast it felt like it might burst out of his chest. He was so, so confused. There was just one thing on his mind now. He had to get out. He had to see for himself. Because _something_ just felt wrong- a seed of doubt had been planted.

He looked at his hands again. His head was swimming with drugs and it just didn't seem capable of providing an answer for his own question. Would he really still have calluses if he had been in hospital for three years?


	3. Tribute 1: Left behind (chapter 3)

**Overwhelmed by the support this is getting, thank you so much! Some great guesses coming in too, but no one's quite got it yet... Although one person has co-incidentally guessed the inspiration for another tribute I'm working on for the series just now!**

 **I think the premise for this one has probably been recycled a good few times in different shows but there's a couple of specifics I've used that tie it into this one show. Think 80's action series...**

TRIBUTE 1- LEFT BEHIND

CHAPTER 3

The unmistakable sound of flesh striking flesh reverberated around the room.

Reeling from the back-handed blow, Ramirez would have fallen if the second man hadn't been standing behind him, bracing the chair. He ran his tongue around his teeth, carrying out a quick head count, then spat blood on the floor. He turned his head back towards his persecutor, staring up at him belligerently.

The tall man was looming over him threateningly, virtually vibrating in place, shaking with fury. He flexed his fingers, bruised knuckles already starting to swell. His lips were pursed, jaw muscles twitching.

But Ramirez saw something else as well, lurking behind the aggression. There was fear in the man's eyes. It made him smirk. He spat another mouthful of blood on the floor, just missing the man's toes. "How many times we gonna go through this, McGarrett? I. Know. NOTHING! How could I have touched him? Look around you." He waved a hand, indicating their surroundings. The narrow, high windows did little to illuminate the plain, oppressive room. "This is Halava, brah. What could I do to him from here?"

McGarrett's nostrils flared. "I _know_ it was you. And you better fucking get used to this because after your trial you'll have to start calling this home."

Ramirez smiled broadly. "We'll have to wait and see about that, won't we. Sorry about your friend though. He was okay. How long's he been gone now? Two weeks? Three? Guess someone must have killed him. Bet you'll hardly recognize his body by the time you find him. Have you looked out his dental reco.."

His question was cut short by the impact of McGarrett's fist.

Ramirez was knocked clean off the chair. He lay on the ground, gasping, clutching his jaw.

"Steve! Enough. Don't let him get to you, brah. This is _not_ going to help," Ramirez heard the Asian cop, Kelly, berating his colleague. He opened his eyes to see the two officers face-to-face, staring each other down. Then McGarrett blinked a couple of times and nodded once. He turned and stormed out of the interview room door, slamming it closed behind him.

Ramirez grinned at the sight of McGarrett's retreating back. He picked himself up of the ground, flopping back in his chair, and looked at Kelly. "Your friend's fucking crazy. You oughta keep him on a leash."

Kelly glanced down at him and smiled before turning towards the door.

Ramirez didn't even have time to react when Kelly spun back round, following through with a roundhouse kick that sent both him and his chair clattering to the ground like skittles.

….

Chin jogged through the prison parking lot, eyes fixed on the tall figure of Steve McGarrett. He was standing by his Silverado, leaning heavily with his hands on the hood, dark head bowed.

"Steve!" he called as he approached. There was no reaction. Chin slowed, realizing his friend still needed time to pull himself back from the brink. Those broad shoulders were trembling and Chin felt his anger and his pain. Shared them. Chin sat back against the hood beside Steve and laid a hand on his shoulder. They stood together like that for long minutes, neither speaking because it had all been said before.

The three weeks that had passed since Danny had gone had been hell on all of them. They had gone looking for him when he hadn't reappeared from the planned meeting with his informant. His car was found parked up at the side of the road where they had been due to meet, keys still in the ignition. The informant's body was beside it, shot execution style.

Danny had simply disappeared. A folder of documents had been found on the passenger seat of the Camaro- the financials he had gone to pick up. Charlie Fong had found traces of pentobarbitone on the sheets of paper inside- a powerful sedative that can be absorbed through the skin. If Danny had touched the papers in the folder he would have been overcome by the effects of the drug within moments. He would simply passed out. But what had happened to him next…they had no idea.

Since then none of them had stopped. Snatching the odd hour of sleep in the office, existing on caffeine, they were running on fumes. Steve hadn't been home for the duration other than to pick up a change of clothes. Renée, Lou Grover's wife, kept turning up with food for them and standing over them to make sure they ate at least something. She had been a godsend, running between the team and Rachel and Grace, keeping everyone going virtually single-handedly.

They simply had to find Danny. Chin couldn't even begin to imagine how any of them would be able to let this go if they didn't. Moving on without getting Danny home, one way or another, was unthinkable. The Five-0 team were incredibly close, a family in every way that mattered. They had all lost people they loved in the time they had been together and Danny, with his big heart, had been there for all of them. Chin glanced over at Steve, full of concern for their leader because he knew the man had to feel it the most. He and Danny were virtually inseparable. Bitching and fighting with each other incessantly like kids, yet gravitating towards each other at every given opportunity. They had fallen into friendship when they had met, both in bad places in their lives, and had simply been there for each other ever since.

Chin squeezed Steve's shoulder again. Finally, the taller man drew a deep breath and turned to face him, eyes now full of fury. "It's Ramirez. I just know it is. It has to be. Let's go, let's see what the others have got." Steve pulled away from Chin and jumped into the driver's seat of the truck. Chin's eyes followed him sadly for a moment, because they both knew the rest of the team were just going over old ground now. And they would have called if they had anything.

They had nothing.

…

Danny watched and waited, rubbing his fingers repetitively over those calluses. He was fixated on them now, because he had allowed them to give him hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, all this was _not_ true. But he was so unsure, the drugs clouding his judgment. And the evidence was stacked against him. He was in hospital, not some random warehouse in the back of god-knows where. His doctor really was a doctor. One that he _knew_. Doubts swam around his confused mind. The only way to be sure if he was being lied to was to find out for himself. To escape.

He bided his time, praying he would be physically capable of achieving what he needed to. But he felt so weak. Collins had injected him again with _something_ in addition to whatever the hell was in the drip. Reality was phasing in and out around him, interspersed with white flashes of images he thought might be memories from that black pit inside him, but he just couldn't quite make them out. They stayed just out of his reach. But the emotions that accompanied them were certainly leaking through. Grief and guilt and fury- emanating from him and directed towards him.

He was consumed with dread and fear, they wanted to rise up and choke him altogether. He tried his best to stay in the here-and-now, to concentrate on what he had to do. But he felt like he was seeing everything from a distance, watching it on TV. He _fought_ with every fiber of his being to stay focused. He touched those calluses obsessively, afraid if he stopped he would forget about them altogether, forget to _hope_ this might not all be true.

Collins' face loomed into view again.

"Well done Danny. You look calmer now. Good boy. Now I'm giving you another chance. You're my favorite patient after all. One question. Just that one question, then you can speak to Grace. I _promise_. I talked to Rachel again. She says she'll _know_ you're so much better if you can speak about the Ramirez case. She might even let Grace _visit_ soon."

Danny's head jerked up at that, because God he wanted to see her! He _needed_ to see her, to touch her and kiss her and say he was sorry. His breath hitched in his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut. He rubbed those calluses again, knowing how easy it would be to abandon his plan and go along with Collins. Because what if he was wrong? He probably _was_ wrong. And if he broke out Rachel would _never_ let him see Gracie. _Never_. And...and if he was wrong he really _had_ killed Steve _._ He had killed his best friend in the world, the man who had stuck by him through all the shit life had thrown his way.

A sob wrenched its way from his throat and his stomach lurched.

"I know Danny. I know it's hard." Collins oozed sympathy. "Just one question, then you can speak to her. Danny, think carefully now. Where did you and Steve hide Ramirez' girlfriend? Where did you put Rosa?"

Danny sat, swaying slightly, indecision written across his face. Collins sat down beside him on the bed, bringing his face in close to Danny's. Danny could feel the man's breath on his cheek, smell his toothpaste.

Collins smiled gently as Danny met his gaze for a fraction of a second before looking back down at his hands. "I know it's hard because you feel like you shouldn't say. And that's why you _have_ to. Show me you've let go of the past. You've accepted what's happened. You know that time has passed and this doesn't matter anymore. Show me you trust me. Now, where did you hide Rosa?"


	4. Tribute 1: Left Behind (chapter 4)

**Tracey450 and 2 guests...prizes of honor and glory winging their way across cyberspace to you because you were spot on! This is a tribute to an episode of Airwolf. Bonus honor and glory if anyone gets the name of the episode... There's no more help from this story I'm afraid, all of the borrowed elements were introduced in the first three chapters. And no, there is NOT a helicopter dogfight at the end before anyone who remembers Airwolf asks!** **I'll tell you which bits of the ep I used at the end just in case anyone's interested.**

 **Anyway, back to the story...**

LEFT BEHIND

CHAPTER 4

Steve leant heavily on the edges of the sink, staring critically at his reflection in the mirror. He looked thin and unwell, the shadows under his eyes exaggerating the pallor of his skin. He rubbed a hand across the stubble on his jaw. He knew he should shave but he just couldn't make himself care enough to do it. He glanced over at the door of the john before looking back into his own eyes. He realized at some point one of the team was going to come looking for him but he just needed a few minutes. Just some space and peace and quiet because he couldn't _think._ The answer was out there somewhere but, no matter what he tried, what evidence they reviewed, who he punched, it eluded him.

This _should_ be just another case, just like _any_ other case. Five-0 _always_ got their man. _Always_ saved the day. Well, almost always. An image of Danny, sitting resolutely facing away from him, flashed to the forefront of his mind. His partner's shoulders were shaking as he wept silently. Matty's remains had just been positively identified. They had _known_ already of course. But just knowing and having irrefutable DNA results emailed to you proved very different things. The stark words 'POSITIVE MATCH' had floored Danny. Steve had ached for him, but there was literally nothing he could say so he had just sat with him, offering unwavering silent support. He wished he could be there for him now, wherever the hell he was. If he was even still alive.

So this wasn't just like any other case at all, not really. He was foolish to even try to palm it off as such. It meant everything to him. It was _Danny._ Grief and helplessness punched Steve square in the gut without warning and he squeezed his eyes shut, doubling over. He bent his head over the sink and gagged, then sobbed convulsively.

The sound of approaching footsteps jerked him back from the brink and he hurriedly turned on the tap, splashing water on his face in an attempt to conceal the evidence of his near breakdown. The door pushed open and a face peered in. Lou. The expression on the big man's face told Steve that Lou knew fine well what was going on with him right at that moment but the older man didn't call him on it.

"Steve, we've got a call. Duke's needing back-up at Queen's Medical Center. C'mon man, we've gotta go." Lou's voice was laden with concern, but his words were all business.

Steve stared at him dumbly for a moment, jaw slack.

Lou might not have known him for as long as the rest of the team, but he got him. He walked over to Steve, letting the door swing shut. He grabbed his shoulder, ducking his head to look Steve right in the eye. "Look. This isn't us giving up. We're just providing some back-up, that's all, then it's straight back to Danny. Right?"

Steve looked into his eyes for a long moment, then nodded brusquely. He pulled back away from Lou, forcing his hard facade to drop back into place. "Let's go."

...

Steve's Silverado screeched to a stop outside Queen's amidst what appeared to be a sea of marked cop cars, lights flashing brightly in the half-light of the Hawaiian dusk. He and Lou had driven over in silence. Steve had glanced repeatedly in his rear view mirror at Chin and Kono in the car behind. He was all too aware that not one single person was looking for Danny right at that moment.

Steve spotted Duke right away, standing with a group of uniformed officers beside the ER entrance. He appeared to be assigning tasks. The smartly dressed figures broke off in ones and twos, running off with purposeful strides, as the Five-0 team approached.

"Duke, what's the situation?" Steve barked, scanning around and taking in the organized chaos.

Duke shook his head. "I'm still trying to work out exactly what happened. It sounds like some psychiatric patient has escaped from the top floor. A security guard found him lying in the lift one floor down from there. They guy went crazy, knocked the guard out and stole his gun. The guard spilled out in the ER, half out, but the patient wasn't in the elevator with him anymore. He's okay, he's not badly hurt, but the patient's not been located yet. We don't even know if he's on or off the premises. And we haven't been able to make contact with anyone from the floor the guy came from. No one's answering the phones. There may be more injured up there."

Steve shook his head. "That doesn't sound good, Duke. Where are you at, what steps have you taken?"

"I've got the place on lockdown. We've got a cordon round the whole hospital, officers on every stair and elevator exit on the lower two floors and we're in the process of clearing and securing the remainder of the building a floor at a time. Staff and patients are confined to the wards and they've locked up as many doors as possible. Steve, I'm sorry to drag you out, I know you're busy. It just sounds like the guy is highly unstable, he's now armed and this is a _hospital_. It can't stay shut down like this for long. We need to sort this fast. I wanted as many eyes on the ground as possible."

Steve looked down at the ground for a moment, yet again suppressing the stabbing guilt he was feeling for taking the time out from Danny's case. He nodded sharply. "It's okay. You were right to call us in, Duke. Let's just get it resolved as quickly as possible. You got a description of this guy yet?"

Duke shook his head again. "Not a good one, anyway. The guard just remembers a skinny guy in pajama pants who seemed really out of it. He'll be distinctive enough unless he gets hold of some clothes. The top floor is let out just now to a private company who supposedly specialize in dealing with violent schizophrenics. They have independent CCTV and computer systems so we can't access either from anywhere else in the hospital to try to get images or a name. We're working our way up there as we clear the building."

"Right," said Steve, "We'll head straight up to the top floor, see what the situation is. Lou, Chin, Kono, with me." He turned and strode towards the hospital entrance.

Duke shouted after him. "Steve, the access hasn't been cleared yet. You _know_ there's a right way to do this."

Steve turned back to him. "Yeah, but there's also a fast way. Duke, you know civilian lives are at risk as long as this guy is on the loose. We need to find him and we need to find anyone else he's hurt." He turned back to his team. "Let's go."

…

Steve moved up the stairwell silently, every sense primed for danger. They had reached the 6th floor without encountering a soul and the silence in the stairwell boded well for the team reaching the top floor without incident. The very moment that thought entered Steve's mind the creak of a door on a higher floor had him silently berating himself for tempting fate. He raised his hand to tell the team at his heels to stop. They listened intently.

Footsteps shuffled into the stairwell. Two male voices, hushed, echoed down to them clearly. Mainlanders, west coast, Steve thought.

"This is so fucked up. I can't fucking believe Collins let this happen. We're nowhere near knowing where she is yet. A week max, Collins said. Then he's gotta complicate things and bam- three weeks later and still nothing! And now this?! The boss is gonna kill someone and it is _not_ gonna be me."

"Yeah, so let's find him and try it our way this time. No way did he make it far. He's so juiced he shouldn't even be able to stand up. Come on, let's try the next floor down."

Steve frowned in confusion and glanced behind him. Chin was at his heels and his puzzled expression matched Steve's own because nothing about that little exchange felt right by a long shot. Steve pointed at the entrance way to the next level and Chin nodded, throwing hand signals behind back to Kono and Lou. Steve held his breath, hoping the hinges were well-oiled. They were in luck- the door opened silently and the four team-mates spread out, taking up concealed positions to await the two approaching men. Steve glanced around. They had lucked out- this section of corridor seemed to be home to a series of storage rooms. There were no patients or staff to worry about should force prove necessary in dealing with the unidentified pair.

The stair door opened. Steve flattened himself against the door behind him. He took a deep breath then stepped out right in front of the men, gun already drawn. "Hands up. _Now._ "

The men froze in alarm. Smaller in build than Steve, they stared at his imposing form in fright. They were armed but their reactions had been poor, their guns were still pointing at the ground. They turned as one and ran back towards the stair door.

Steve didn't open fire. He smiled smugly.

As the men reached the door, it swung open in their faces, _hard_ , knocking them clean off their feet. They sat on the ground together in shock, noses and lips bloody, then looked up in disbelief as Kono stepped through the door and stood over them, legs apart and hands on hips.

"Going somewhere, boys?" she purred.

Lou and Chin materialised from their respective hiding places and set about disarming and zip-tying the hapless pair.

Steve knelt down beside the men. He looked at first one then the other. "You're gonna tell me what's going on here, because there's somewhere else I need to be. Got it?"

They didn't reply and he squinted at them, for the first time taking in their attire. "Nurses? Seriously? Since when do nurses carry guns?"

"Look, we had nothing to do with this, right? We're just providing a bit of security," blurted out one of the men. He had to be the younger of the two, maybe 25. He was short and muscular, tattooed from the neck downwards. A classic thug-for-hire.

The second man snapped his head round. "Shut the fuck up. They're not HPD, they're Five-0."

His colleague's eyes opened wide at that apparent revelation. Then a stubborn expression spread across his face, fear quickly hidden. He pursed his lips and looked away.

Steve exchanged glances with his team, because there was something a touch strange about that as well. What difference did it make if they were 5-0 or regular cops? He shrugged. "Okay. I've not got time for this. Chin, Kono- take these idiots down to Duke and have HPD lock them up till we're ready for them." He turned to the tattooed thug again and clapped his cheek. "I'll be seeing _you_ later." His thinly veiled threat was enough to reintroduce the fear in the man's eyes and Steve smiled in satisfaction. He stood up and nodded at Lou. "Let's go on up, big guy." He marched back towards the stairwell.

Lou rolled his eyes, but followed on behind.

...

The locked door to the secure top floor disintegrated with one powerful kick from Steve's big boot and he and Lou strode through the door, splitting up to clear the level with a well-practiced ease.

The door opened onto a hall, complete with nurses' station, computer and files. Two corridors led off it, multiple private rooms off each. Steve made quick progress up his chosen corridor, looking down the sights of his gun as he moved, kicking open each door he encountered without hesitation. And each room revealed the same thing. Nothing. No patients. No staff. Empty rooms, empty beds. The place was a ghost town. It was bizarre. Steve cleared the last room and lowered his gun, frowning. Between the deserted floor and the gun-toting 'nurses', he was getting a really bad feeling about this whole set-up. He turned around to march back to the hall.

"Steve! Here!"

Steve broke in to a run at Lou's call, retracing his steps and entering the second corridor, gun once again raised in front of him. He stuttered to a halt as he came to the last door. Lou was inside, firearm now holstered, busily removing restraints from a semi-conscious man who had been attached to the single bed in the room. Steve looked around uneasily, taking in the padded walls. This had to be where the psychiatric patient had been kept.

Steve walked over to Lou and stared down at the man on the bed. He realized with a start that he knew him. "This guy is a doctor here, Lou. I've dealt with him before. Dr…Collins? Yeah, Dr. Collins."

Lou turned to him. "Collins? Wasn't that the name those idiots in the stairwell said?"

"It was." Steve frowned deeply, trying to make sense of the situation. "Dr. Collins? Can you hear me?" He tapped the man's cheek gently. There was a swollen, bruised area on his temple- looked like he'd been taken out with one blow.

Collins moaned and his eyes flickered open. He focused slowly on Steve's face, then his eyes widened in panic. He pushed weakly at Steve's chest, struggling off the bed and onto his feet.

"Woah, easy doctor. You should stay down."

"No, I'm fine." Collins was leaning heavily on the side of the bed. He cast his eyes around the room fearfully, then fixed his gaze on the door.

"I'm guessing the missing patient came from here, right?" queried Steve. "Can you fill us in Dr. Collins, because I have to say I'm a bit confused."

"Sure. I just…. I just need some air first." With that Collins backed away from them, then turned and started walking briskly down the corridor towards the elevator, clutching his injured head. As he got closer he broke into a run, hitting the call button and turning round frantically to look back at Steve and Lou.

Steve and Lou exchanged a confused look.

"Doctor Collins? The hospital is on lockdown. The elevator's switched off. Where are you trying to go?" Lou's deep voice held an edge of a threat to it.

Collins went white. He spun round and sprinted for the stairwell. Steve sprang into action, running after him and grabbing his shoulder. Collins swung round, aiming a fist at his face. Steve easily dodged. He grabbed the fist and yanked it downwards so Collins landed on his face on the floor with a yelp. Steve planted a knee on his back. He bent down so his face was close to Collins' ear. "I've had about enough of this. You want to tell me what the hell is going on here?"

"No! I need to go! Please!" begged Collins.

Lou shook his head. "Another one for HPD. I do not understand this one bit, McGarrett. Any ideas?" he asked. He pulled out his cuffs and started to secure Collins.

Steve stood up and walked away, shaking his head. He looked over the nurses' station, eyes tracing the neat pile of folders stacked on the desk. He frowned, then took a step closer. He reached out to open the top file. At that moment, his cellphone rang. Still frowning at the folders, he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

"McGarrett." He growled.

It was Duke. "Steve, listen, a couple just had their car jacked about half a mile from here. They're not hurt, just shaken up. They said the perp was only wearing pajama pants and he seemed drunk, could hardly speak. That's got to be our guy, he must have slipped out somehow. I've got multiple units heading to the scene and I've circulated the license plate of the stolen vehicle. No sightings or traffic cam activations as yet. I'm with security now going through CCTV to see where he got out, try to get an image."

" _Shit_. At least he's away from the hospital. Right, Duke I don't know what the hell has been going on up here. Looks like there was just the one patient on the whole floor. We've located a man who I _assume_ is his doctor and he just tried to run from us! Can you send some officers up here to get this scene secured and start processing it? There's files, computers, the usual. Might tell us what's going on. We'll head down and see if we can catch up with this missing patient and his new stolen wheels."

"Oh. My. God." Steve was about to hang up when Duke's shocked exclamation stopped him in his tracks.

"What is it Duke?"

"Steve? Steve, listen, can you access the CCTV system for that floor?"

Steve glanced at the computer and nodded. "Should be able to, I think. Why? "

"Please, please just look at it. I know what I think I'm seeing but the images are _not_ good and the guy's head is bowed down. He's on his knees in the elevator. I don't want to say in case I'm wrong but I need you to look right now."

"What?" Steve frowned, bemused, but he walked over and flicked on the computer anyway, rapidly identifying and selecting the CCTV system. Lou watched him, still holding his gun on Collins.

Steve hit rewind, still frowning in confusion.

And then his knees nearly buckled. His hand shot out and he hit 'pause'. "Oh my God," he breathed. Because there, captured clearly on screen, was the frantic, unstable, drug-addled man they were looking for. It was Danny. In many ways he was barely recognizable. Clad only in pajama pants, his hair was cut close to his scalp and he was _thin._ Steve could see every rib. They had to have been _starving_ him. How he could even be on his feet utterly defied explanation.

Steve stood, staring in complete and utter shock and disbelief as a gamut of emotions swept over him. Relief to see his partner _alive_. Yet horror and fear because his condition, his situation were almost too much to take in. Had Danny really been here all the time? What the hell had they done to him? "Lou!" he croaked, " _Lou_. It's Danny!" His voice was barely a whisper.

Lou's jaw dropped. "I'm sorry, what did you just say?!" Lou hauled Collins up and dragged him closer to the nurses' station before shoving him back down on the floor. "You move an' I'll ventilate your ass!" he snapped at the doctor, pointing his gun in the man's face. He moved to where he could see the screen and cover the man at the same time. He saw the image and froze, a hand moving reflexively to cover his mouth. "Oh, _shit_!" he mumbled.

Steve hit 'play' again. He and Lou watched in horror as Danny staggered shakily towards the elevator using the wall to hold himself up. The doors slid open but, before he could step through, two figures ran up behind him. The two fake nurses. One grabbed his arm and twisted it up behind his back, shoving him face-first into the wall and pinning him there. The second jammed a needle in Danny's neck. Danny was motionless for a long moment and the man pinning him seemed to relax, taking half a step back and turning to speak with his colleague. At that point Danny seemed to explode, spinning around and laying out the two men with two consecutive punches. He turned back towards the elevator and literally fell through the open doors. They saw him rise painfully to his knees inside as the doors pulled close.

Steve was gasping with shock, his heart beating at a hundred miles an hour. "Lou, I have to go. I have to find him! Get Chin and Kono and make these idiots talk," he pointed at Collins, face twisting in fury with the fresh knowledge of what the man had had a hand in. "I don't care how! Make them talk and find out what the hell they did to him. You find out who's responsible."

Lou nodded dumbly, still staring at the screen, as Steve ran out of the door.


	5. Tribute 1: Left Behind (Chapter 5)

**Maximum honor and glory winging its way to Tracey450...you got the series AND the episode. Kudos :)**

 **Course in the Airwolf episode, String was kissing a nurse and heroically dropping his helicopter out of the back of a cargo plane by this point. No such luck for Danny... Apologies in advance for being so mean to him. It's only because I love him. (Runs and hides)**

LEFT BEHIND

CHAPTER 5

The engine of the Silverado screamed as Steve pushed it to its limits, weaving erratically through the traffic. His heart was in his mouth as he agonised over the little he knew of his partner's ordeal, vividly recalling the confusion and the desperation that had been on Danny's face as he had fought to escape. He had to find him. Nighttime had fallen so the roads were thankfully quieter than they could have been, but still there were too many vehicles in his path, too many drivers meandering slowly out of the way when they clocked his flashing blue lights rather than just getting the hell off the road.

He was heading to Rachel's. Where else would Danny go when he'd been locked away for so long than straight to his precious daughter? He would need to know she was okay, need to wrap his arms around her and see the bastards who had held him hadn't touched her. Maybe they'd threatened her, trying to manipulate him or hurt him. It wouldn't be the first time. He thought of Rick Peterson and what his actions had done to Danny, how fucked up he'd been after that little escapade. The girl meant everything to him. Steve remembered Danny's determination to go to her when he'd got back from Columbia. The man should never even have been on his feet after the beatings he had endured, he should have been in hospital. But he had to go to Grace.

Yes, Steve knew Danny and Danny would go to Grace this time too. He was certain of it.

…..

Danny pushed open the door of the car and fell out onto the grass of Steve's front lawn. He lay there on his side, breathing heavily, trembling from head to foot. He could hardly see any more, the uncontrollable white flashes of horrific memories having become more frequent, more intense and more vivid, a relentless attack on his mind. The world swum around him, phasing in and out between the stomach-churning scenes his mind bombarded him with.

His fists ached. He'd somehow managed to deliver four knock-out blows in the process of his escape, riding on adrenaline alone. He had punched Collins square in the face when the man had leaned in close to ask him about Rosa. God, he hoped he was right to doubt him. He tried to focus on his painful knuckles to ground himself in the present, but the drugs he'd been given were making it virtually impossible. He was fighting the effects, fighting with every fiber in his being, determined to keep going long enough to find out if the story he had been told was true. He had to know if Steve was gone.

Danny began to claw his way towards Steve's front door on all fours, somehow managing to keep a grip on the gun he had taken from the security guard. He felt his way to the stone where he knew Steve kept a spare key, fumbled for the tiny object then hauled himself up the steps.

He sagged down as another memory struck with a flash of light. _Grace backed away as he walked towards her, his hand held out in a plea for forgiveness. "No! stay away from me!" she yelled. "No, I hate you Daddy!" He stumbled forwards another step, trying to grab for her as she moved away. Her eyes filled with terror. She flinched away from him and screamed._

"No!" he moaned, curling in on himself and crying out in distress. The intrusive image was gone but now his mind replayed it over and over and he sobbed wretchedly. But then he felt the hard shape of the key in his hand. He tried to focus, tried to remember the possibility remained that _this was not real._

He took several deep breaths, suppressing his emotions as best as he could. He opened his eyes for a second, focusing on the lock above him through blurred vision, then pushed himself to his feet, leaning heavily against the door. Hands trembling violently, he fought with the lock, almost sobbing in relief when he heard the 'click'. He turned the handle and took a handful of uncertain steps into the house, his heart beating wildly. "St-Steve?" he rasped. But the house was as quiet as a tomb. It smelt stale.

He stopped and started, lurching forwards when his vision cleared and staggering to a halt, leaning heavily on whatever came to hand when his vision whited out, when the merciless images of the things he had supposedly done struck, robbing him of his breath.

He was so, so confused. The new memories that were breaking out, they seemed so real and they all backed up what Collins had said. It seemed less and less likely that the man had lied. Danny began to think he really must be violent, dangerous. After all, he'd just punched out four people, stolen a car at gunpoint. _Driven_ when he could hardly see. He could have killed someone else. Fuck. He really should be locked up. Tears threatened to blind him and he dropped to his knees again, leaning against a wall. "Steve?" His voice was plaintive and weak, desperate.

There was no answer. He rubbed the hard skin on his hands again, reminding himself why he had had hope to begin with. He began to crawl, instinctively making his way to the last place he remembered being with Steve- the kitchen. It was dark and silent. He pushed himself back to his feet, back up the wall, and flicked on the light-switch. He turned around and stared.

Danny's heart dropped like a stone. He lurched over to the sink and ran a finger across the work surface beside it. He stared at the line left behind in the in the dust. He looked at two coffee cups nestled together on the draining board. Everything else was neat, everything else was cleared away apart from those two used coffee cups. He remembered them standing together, he and Steve, drinking from those cups as they chatted about some inane, irrelevant subject. Remembered leaving the cups right there by the sink when a call had come in.

He peered into Steve's cup. The dregs of the coffee had long since evaporated and there was green residue around the stains that were left behind. Mold. No one had been here since that day. Steve had never come home again. It had been true after all. Steve was gone. Danny had killed him. His face twisted in absolute devastation. A new memory hit him in a flash of white light and he fell to his knees, unseeing, momentarily lost in the torture of his own mind.

 _He couldn't move, his head and neck were immobilized, and he was strapped down, paramedics shifting around him. But he could see. He could see a fire crew cutting the roof from his crumpled car. He could see a blanket covering something in the passenger seat._ _Then the blanket fell away, dislodged somehow, revealing Steve lying beneath, face white beneath the blood, jaw slack. He was perfectly still. And they weren't trying to help him. Danny tried to speak, tried to make someone do_ something _for him. But he couldn't. He could only watch as they worked around his partner. No one touched him, no one fought to make him breathe again. It was too late._

Danny came back to himself, retching on the kitchen floor as gut wrenching sobs tore through his whole body. He lay there, his face screwed up in pain and his chest heaving as he cried. He really _had_ done that terrible, terrible thing and no way, _no way_ could he live with himself, no way could he _ever_ face Grace. She would be better off without him.

With a sudden burst of adrenaline, he pushed himself back to his feet. He weaved his way drunkenly to the back door. He opened it, continuing outside onto the lanai, then towards the beach and those two empty chairs. He stopped to touch the back of Steve's chair lightly, shaking hand hesitating for a moment before finally making contact with the smooth wood. "I'm so sorry," he breathed.

He stood there then, swaying, staring out to sea, gun hanging limply in his hand. His white pajamas were blood-splattered and torn and his bare feet filthy. He didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore. It was over. It was all true.

He wished he could turn back time. He turned his head slowly, eyes dropping to the two empty chairs on the grass beside him. He smiled faintly, remembering days gone by. Beers and stories being shared. Easy banter, bitching and arguing. Friendship and family. His smile fell then, because he had single-handedly destroyed it all. He'd always been volatile, emotional. He'd always had a temper. He knew that, yet he hadn't really believed what Collins had told him. He had been wrong.

He was suddenly quiet, decision made. He blinked in an effort to clear his eyes and looked out at the unforgiving ocean, then down at the gun in his hand.


	6. Tribute 1: Left Behind (Chapter 6)

**Thank you so much for all the reviews. They made me smile lots and I NEARLY weakened and put on another last night. Instead, to celebrate the start of Season 6 (for some lucky people...not me unfortunately** **), I've stuck two chapters together for today. See if you can spot where the mean cliff-hanger was...**

CHAPTER 6

Kono gripped her phone, pressing it to her ear as she stared down at Dr. Collins with complete hatred and disgust. The man wiped blood from his mouth with a shaking hand. He glared back at her defiantly and made a move to get up, but Chin stepped forwards, slamming him back down onto the floor with his boot. Lou stared down at him, arms folded and lips thin, furious.

"Steve?" Kono walked smartly away from Collins when their leader answered his cell, moving out of the disgraced doctor's earshot.

 _"_ _Kono, speak to me. What you got?"_ Steve sounded terse. She could hear the roar of the Silverado's engine in the background as he sped along, searching desperately for Danny.

"Steve, where are you?"

 _"_ _I'm heading to Rachel's. I figure his first stop has to be Gracie, right? I can't get them on their cells, I'm not sure where…"_

Kono shook her head, her beautiful brown eyes frantic with worry. She cut in, stopping Steve mid-sentence. "Steve, listen, they've been messing with his head, okay? They've been pumping him full of drugs- scopolamine, LSD, barbiturates, some things I've never even _heard_ of. They've told him he was in a coma, that he was mentally unstable when he came out of it so he's been locked up for _years_ and that it all started because…because he was responsible for an accident that killed _you_." Kono's voice started to waver. "They told him he has no one left, no one could forgive him so he's lost all of us. And Rachel took Grace away to England, he's not even allowed to _talk_ to her. Gracie _hates_ him."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment as Steve tried to absorb what she was saying. " _Oh my God, Kono, that's…_ "

She cut back in. "They've been thorough, Steve. They've edited together videos of some car crash, there's pictures of you but you're all messed up. It really, really looks like your body in Danny's car, I'm not kidding. And there's a clip of some kid that looks a whole lot like Gracie shouting, saying she's scared of him, doesn't want to see him again. Steve, there are mocked up photos of your autopsy. There are newspaper articles about what supposedly happened, all blaming him."

She could hear Steve let out a shaky breath. " _Shit. Oh shit, that's so bad. If he's believed all of that, any of that…._ "

"You've got to find him, Steve. But if he believes any of it, even if he's not sure, I don't think he'll go to Rachel's. I think he's going to look for you. And they've been pumping him full of this…stuff. He's going to have no idea what's going on. Steve, please, you've got to get to him, he needs to see you."

There was a pause and Kono could hear the tires of the Silverado shrieking as Steve made a turn.

 _"_ _So chances are he's going to head for the Palace. Or mine. I'm five minutes away from my house, I'm heading there. But if he's gone to mine. Shit, Kono, I've barely been home for weeks. He might think…_ "

"I know." Kono's voice was trembling. "Ok, you go to yours, we'll head to the Palace. And Steve, you were right. Collins was paid to do this to Danny. It _was_ Ramirez. He's set all of this up, leased the whole top floor, bought Collins. He picked him because Danny had met him, he knew he was a doctor so he'd be more likely to believe him. They were trying to get Rosa's location out of him, the whole thing was about her. But Danny didn't give it away. That's what those men on the stairs were talking about."

 _"_ _No. No, of course he didn't. He's way too smart for that."_

Kono smiled at the fierce pride she heard in her boss' tone. "I know. Steve, Duke was here, HPD are out looking too and he's got a marked car near yours, he's sent it there."

" _What? No! No. Danny's armed, Kono. Tell them to hold off, do you hear me? He's scared and he's armed and we don't know how he's gonna react. I can't take the risk that someone will hurt him._ "

Kono's stomach dropped as she realized the mistake they had made. "Steve, I'll try but I think it might be too late. They were right around the corner. I think they're already there."

….

Danny's head jerked up. He had zoned out again, had lost himself in the memories of Chin, and Kono, and Lou, and Rachel, staring down at him with hate and disgust on their faces. Grace, looking at him in fear, then running to hide behind her mother. Steve yelling at him, pleading with him to stop the car, trying to grab the wheel. A blinding pain in his own head. Blood on his hands. Steve's blood. Steve's limp body in the passenger seat of the wrecked Camaro. People screaming, crying. His own voice, angry, yelling and threatening, mean and nasty, getting worse and worse until they had to tie him down. Until everyone left him.

He raised his gun and turned it, looking into the bottomless void of the barrel.

"Stop! Put down your weapon!"

Danny frowned in confusion then, looking up and trying to focus. There was a man in front of him, between him and the sea. He had materialized as if from nowhere. He couldn't make out the face but he knew the uniform- he was HPD. He must hate Danny too.

"Detective Williams, put the weapon down."

Danny squinted. The officer was pointing a gun at him. No wonder. Danny was dangerous. They were scared of him. They wanted to take him back. Back to the hospital to tie him down to that bed again. Back to Collins and his questions. Back to being pumped full of drugs to keep him calm, to keep him quiet and alive and alone. But he didn't want that life. He wanted the life he had lost. The life he had destroyed when he killed his own best friend.

A tear ran down his cheek. He knew there was only one way out. But he knew there was more than one way to achieve it.

He raised his gun, hand shaking violently, and took aim at the police officer.

…..

Steve gritted his teeth as he floored the throttle of the Silverado, the lights of the nighttime cityscape flashing past him in a blur. His heart pounded with fear for his partner. He smacked the steering wheel in frustration because his vehicle just wouldn't go any damn faster.

"Shit, Danny. What are you thinking, partner? _Shit_!" he hissed.

Steve was more than familiar with the drugs Kono had said Collins used on Danny. He'd had first-hand experience courtesy of Wo Fat. He remembered vividly how _real_ the dreams, hallucinations-whatever- had been. But the world created by Steve's own mind had been a refuge. A tranquil escape from the torture he was being subjected to. Danny had been force fed a vision of hell. The things they had told Danny could be enough to destroy him.

Steve shook his head. Danny _had_ to have had doubts. He must have or he would have given Rosa away, wouldn't he? Or was that just his cop's instinct making him keep that to himself no matter what the circumstances. He _prayed_ Danny had had doubts, that he hadn't bought Collins' nightmare package. If he had…he would think he had nothing left to live for.

Steve had to find him. He had to tell him it wasn't real, it was as simple as that.

The minutes it took him to reach his home felt like an age. Finally reaching his destination, he brought his vehicle skidding to a stop, heart in his mouth. His breath hitched as he took in the scene. The car that Danny had stolen was there- driven straight through his fence and onto the front lawn. He _had_ come here! But the HPD car was there too. He had been too late to stop that from happening.

Steve jumped out of his car and froze, listening anxiously, his hands squeezed tightly into fists, his stomach churning with dread. A bead of sweat ran down the side of his face. He could hear nothing. He realized his front door was lying open and sprinted up to it, pausing in the doorway. "Danny?" he called. There was no response, no noise at all. He started to search through the rooms frantically, shouting his partner's name as he went.

A noise from the back garden stopped him in his tracks. He looked up, out through the glass of his lanai doors. He cried out in dismay at the scene that was unfolding by the beach in front of him, lit up in shades of blue and silver by the full moon. "Danny! No!" he yelled out as he saw his partner, swaying drunkenly, raise his gun and level it at a lone police officer.

Steve threw the door open and burst through it, breaking into a run, his arms pumping as he sped towards them, desperate.

The cop had ducked down and raised his own gun. "Put it down or I'll shoot!" He yelled.

"No! Hey! Don't shoot! Don't shoot him!" Steve screamed out as he sprinted towards them.

Danny didn't react at all to Steve's presence, didn't seem to hear him. He was focused on the man in front of him, his chin raised defiantly, _daring_ him to shoot. In that instant Steve _knew_ what his partner was trying to do and his blood ran cold.

The cop turned round towards Steve in confusion, eyes widening as he saw the Five-0 commander thundering towards him. His face was young and uncertain. Inexperienced. That was probably the only reason Danny wasn't dead right then, because any seasoned cop would have just taken him out.

"Go! Wait out front." Steve barked at the cop as he reached them, his eyes fixed on his partner. "I'll handle this." The cop nodded gratefully and ran off.

Steve took a deep breath, taking a moment to assess Danny's condition. He could have cried. Danny looked terrible, so thin and so weak and so _desperate_. His eyes seemed to be looking at Steve but they were unfocused. There was no light of recognition there. His stance was determined and purposeful yet he looked dazed and entirely confused, his breaths fast and panicked. His hand shook with the effort of holding up the gun but, stubborn to the last, holding it up he was. And now it was pointed straight at Steve.

"Danny?" Steve's voice was gentle as he walked closer to his partner, trying not to startle him. He came to a halt a few steps away, eyeing the weapon cautiously.

Danny jerked at the softly spoken word, trying to focus on the cop he thought was still in front of him, wondering vaguely why he hadn't been put out of his misery yet. The features on the pale face slowly resolved themselves into an identifiable pattern. He stared in complete and utter disbelief at the mirage that materialized before him, illuminated in the pale moonlight. It looked just like Steve.

No sooner had the realization hit him than a merciless flurry of white flashes struck. Danny moaned in distress, staggering as he fought to stay on his feet while a catalogue of images of Steve spun by him. Steve begging him to stop the car. Steve's cold, dead, blood-stained face. Steve lying on Max Bergman's table, Y-incision stitched up after his autopsy. Danny let his head sag down until the images passed, still fighting to hold the gun up because he had fundamentally no idea what was really happening around him and the weapon represented literally the only control he had left over his life. The only thing that stood between him and the promise of spending the rest of his days in that room, that prison, alone.

He opened his eyes again. He still saw Steve there, but the images he had just seen in his mind seemed every bit as real as what he thought he could see in front of him right at that moment. He brushed a hand roughly over his eyes, trying to clear his vision, certain his sub-conscious had simply chosen to torture him with yet another vision of the man he had killed. Certain the faceless cop was still there, waiting to take him away. Then he frowned, realizing the mirage was talking. He tried to listen, to make out the words.

"Easy, Danny, easy. You're safe now, buddy. Put the gun down."

Danny gasped in shock because the voice sounded just like that of his lost friend. He shook his head in denial, staring hard at the man in front of him now and trying to _understand_. He could see Steve's face, solid and alive. He could hear his voice and he sounded so, so real. Danny gritted his teeth, feeling the stabbing pain of loss again, of knowing he would never _really_ see the man he loved like a brother again. His mind was simply supplying him with the images he wanted to see, he _knew_ that, because he _knew_ Steve was gone.

Still he couldn't look away. Steve's hands were held out to his sides, showing he was unarmed, he meant no harm, as if Danny was a cornered animal. Danny finally dared to make eye contact, terrified that Steve's expressive eyes would be filled with hatred and accusation. They weren't. Fear and compassion was all he could see and it made his own eyes sting and fill because he really _wanted_ this to be real, so badly. But it was impossible. It couldn't be.

But for all he couldn't be real, here was Steve in front of him and Danny had something he needed to say.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he croaked, a tear running unchecked down his face.

Steve shook his head, his own eyes shining brightly. "No, Danny, you've nothing to be sorry for, you've done nothing wrong," he rasped.

Danny shook his head, face crumpling. His gun hand wavered, just a touch.

Steve moved a step closer. "Danny, you listen to me," he said, voice trembling with emotion, "this is real. I'm here. Look at me! I'm not dead, buddy. Collins lied to you. He drugged you and he lied to you. It was a trick. He was working for Ramirez. They wanted to know where Rosa was so they tricked you. Do you hear me Danny? Just nod if you hear me."

Danny nodded mutely, another tear tracking down his cheek because he _could_ hear it, but he couldn't accept it. He didn't trust himself, his own perception. But he _wanted_ to believe it. He glanced up towards Steve's house, remembering what he had seen, remembering why this couldn't be true.

Steve saw him and understood. "Danny, whatever you saw in there, it's because I've not been home for weeks. I've been looking for you, buddy. You understand? I've just not been here."

Danny stared at him, still not daring to believe. "I-I don't know what's real." he choked out helplessly.

Steve's heart twisted at his partner's torment. "I know," he said, wavering voice gentle but firm. "It's the drugs, partner. But this is real. This is me, okay? Come on, trust me. You _know_ me." Steve held out his hand. "Let me help you."

Danny didn't dare reach out, he wanted to so badly but he simply couldn't make that leap. His breaths came raggedly and his gun hand shook. He watched, wide, frightened eyes full of doubt, still convinced the apparition would disappear only to be replaced with that cop. Maybe even Collins himself, waiting to fill him with drugs and tie him down again.

Steve nodded in acceptance. "It's okay. I'll come to you. _Trust me."_ His eyes were fixed on Danny's, willing him to _see,_ to take a chance. Blowing out a calming breath, Steve took one cautious step closer, then another. He was close enough to make a grab for Danny's gun now, but he didn't. He didn't try to take the one thing that stood between his partner and complete vulnerability. He took another step, straight past the weapon wavering in the outstretched hand. He reached up to touch Danny's cheek.

Danny gasped at the warm contact.

"It's over. Everything's okay now," Steve whispered tenderly, looking earnestly into Danny's bleary eyes, praying his partner would finally accept what he was seeing.

Danny let out a whimper, defenses finally starting to crumble now he could _feel_ Steve. His warm skin, his _breaths_. He was _breathing_. That had to mean….

Steve grabbed him by the nape of his neck. He pulled Danny into an embrace, gripping him hard.

"Steve?" Danny murmured, shocked.

Steve nodded. "Yeah, Danno, it's me. I've got you, buddy, I've got you." He huffed out the words against Danny's head, eyes squeezed shut, every effort going into holding his partner tight, keeping him safe now he finally had him back.

Danny could feel Steve's strong arms around him, he could smell his familiar scent, he could hear his deep voice, hear the reassuring words he was murmuring. Danny finally, finally started to accept the truth. He let out a strangled noise and wrapped his arms around his friend, gun falling to the ground. He held on for grim death, fingers clutching at the material of Steve's shirt. He shook violently, silent, shocked tears slipping down his cheeks. He buried his hot, wet face against Steve's chest, feeling entirely overcome.

It was all too much. The effects of the drugs in his system swept him up again and combined with a long overdue adrenaline crash and complete physical weakness to leave him utterly done. His knees sagged. He could still hear Steve's voice, as if from a great distance. He sounded panicked now, calling out Danny's name. Danny wanted to stay with him more than anything, but the world was pulling away from him rapidly. He felt like he was falling, back towards the darkness, back towards oblivion.


	7. Tribute 1: Left Behind (Chapter 7)

LEFT BEHIND

CHAPTER 7

Danny came awake with a jerk. His mind felt numb, drug addled. The shadows of a cruel dream teased him with a momentary feeling of relief. A feeling that the nightmare hadn't been true after all. But nothing had changed. He could still feel a cannula in the back of his hand. He hadn't ripped it out after all. There was a tightness on his left wrist. One of the restraints was on too tight. Again. He opened his eyes for a fleeting moment, long enough to confirm what he knew he would see. A white ceiling. A strip light set behind a sheet of plexi-glass. He had never broken out. Steve was still dead. His own mind had played a sick, cruel game on him.

He opened his mouth wide, trying to breathe past the lump in his throat, trying to stay calm like they told him he had to, but the utter desolation that swept across him made it impossible. The pain of reawakening loss was unbearable and forced a distressed keen from his lips. He choked, tears leaking from his eyes.

He barely registered as the tightness on his right wrist was released. His blurred vision prevented him from making out the features of the person who seemed to appear from nowhere, who grabbed his shoulder and eased him onto his side so he could breathe. The person who knelt beside him, stroked his back and spoke to him in a soft voice. "Hey, hey Danny, easy partner. You're okay."

Danny lurched in shock. "S-Steve?" he gasped.

"Yeah buddy, it's okay." Steve smiled gently at him. "You're okay. You're safe. You passed out back at mine but you're gonna be okay."

Passed out was an understatement. Danny's vitals had bottomed out, his abused system having taken more than enough. Steve and the team had had a more than anxious wait while the doctors at Tripler fought to stabilize him. Steve found himself clinging on to his partner now, rubbing his back, grasping his arm, touching his cheek. It had been too close.

Danny was still gazing at Steve in disbelief. He huffed out a soft whimper, entirely unable to believe what he was seeing. He shook his head, teeth suddenly chattering. "He said…." Danny said, voice breaking with emotion. That was all he had right then, that was all that came out.

"I know, Danny." Steve's voice was soft. "But it wasn't true, none of it. None of what Collins said happened. You never crashed your car. It's fine, it's at HPD. And Grace still loves you, everyone does. Grace will be here in a while- she's coming to see you, buddy. The team are out in the waiting room. They would only let one of us in at a time so I pulled rank."

Danny looked closely at Steve, letting himself grasp the possibility that what he was seeing right then was _real_. He raised a hand, simultaneously realizing he wasn't restrained at all. He was shocked at how weak he felt but he managed to reach up to touch Steve's face. He hesitated for a moment before finally making contact and feeling the warm skin of his cheek, the rough stubble.

"Not dead?" he choked out, and the tears that fell now might just have been tears of relief.

"Not getting rid of me that easily, Danno!" Steve grinned back at him.

Danny frowned a little when he saw Steve's eyes shining too.

Steve read his expression immediately and snorted. "Hey, you were gone three weeks, buddy. Even I'm allowed to show a bit of emotion, okay?!"

Danny smiled weakly at him, but found he still had to ask, "N-not three years?"

Steve shook his head. "No buddy, just three weeks."

Danny removed his hand from Steve's face and held it up to him, showing him his palm. "Knew it. Calluses." he breathed out, voice barely a whisper.

Steve frowned, then grinned goofily at him again. "Smart boy, Danny. Smart boy."

Danny glanced away, trying to blink the tears away from his eyes. He still felt so woozy. It was hard to think straight and his emotions were too close to the surface, leaving him feeling raw and exposed. He took a few deliberate breaths, trying to gather his thoughts. He cast his eyes around, taking in the walls of the hospital room. He realized with a start that it was virtually the same as the one he'd been kept in. There were no padded walls but the layout was the same. His heart began to pound and he suddenly felt claustrophobic. There was a window, but the blinds were drawn. "W-when can I get out of here?" He rasped. He tried to sound casual but there was an edge of fear in his voice he hadn't meant to let slip.

"Wait." Steve stood and walked over to the window, pulling the blinds out of the way and cracking it open as wide as it could go.

Danny exhaled, feeling an unexpected measure of relief.

Steve came back over to him, pulling a chair right in beside him and sitting down. He grabbed Danny's hand. "It's just going to be a few days, that's all. You're gonna be okay, don't worry, but Collins drugged you and virtually starved you. Apparently he wanted you skinny so the whole passage of time thing would be more convincing, the sick bastard."

Danny couldn't miss the fury in Steve's voice. He thought about it and he realized couldn't remember having been given much to eat at all. But didn't remember feeling hungry either. Just sick and weak. He'd been too out of it to feel much of anything, he supposed.

Steve kept talking to him in a low voice, watching him carefully and speaking slowly, giving him a chance to process what was going on. "That's why you need to stay here, just for a while. Collins really juiced you up. The drugs are still working out of your system so you'll not feel right for a while yet. And because you've had nothing proper to eat for so long your blood chemistry is all over the place. The doctors are giving you protein in your drip to start you off. They need to monitor you closely when you start to eat again, start you off small to avoid complications. Fruit juice, that kind of thing. Okay?"

Danny nodded. It was one hell of a lot to take in, but he got it- he thought he did, anyway. But after everything that had happened, the idea of having to stay in hospital was almost more than he could bear. He bit his lip.

Steve knew, of course. They'd been friends for so long the man could read him like a book. He patted Danny's arm. "You're in the right place, Danno. I know it's got to be the last place you want to be after what's happened. And I know you're still confused. That's okay, it's not surprising. So you're not going to be alone here for a single moment okay? I won't allow it. I'll be with you and if I have to go anywhere, someone else from the team will sit in. No arguments."

Danny looked up at him almost shyly, so grateful he thought he might cry yet again. He went for levity, really not wanting to shed any more tears in front of his partner. The man was not a fan of emotion, after all. "S-so no steak yet?"

Steve smiled broadly. "No, no steak. Not for a while. You'll get there, buddy. I'm just so glad you fought back. You did good, Danno, I'm proud of you. I can't believe you got out of there by yourself. You did _real_ good."

New memories, _real_ memories, trickled back into Danny's mind and he huffed out a shaky breath, embarrassment bordering on horror starting to creep in. He'd believed what Collins had said to him. He'd almost _shot_ himself. He might have been drugged but he should have known better. He hated the idea of looking so weak and so foolish. He felt Steve gripping his hand and rubbing his back but he couldn't meet his eye right then. And the things he'd done in the process of escaping…..he squeezed his eyes shut, mortified.

He huffed out a shaky breath. "Those people I hit. And the car…"

Steve shook his head. "Danny, Danny, listen, it's all straightened out. You mostly hit bad guys and that's all good, you know I approve of that kind of thing. The one other guy, the security guard, and the couple with the car- Lou went and filled them in on what happened. They understand, they're fine about it."

Danny shook his head, because that wasn't enough. "I wanna…"

Steve held up his hand, trying to quash the guilt trip before it got going. "If you want to speak to them that's fine, but when you're stronger, yeah? They're fine, everything's fine."

Danny put a hand over his face, feeling totally confused and thoroughly embarrassed at the weakness he was showing. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered, "I…I guess you're right, I guess I'm just still a little confused. I'm so sorry. I feel just…stupid. For believing..." Danny cut short what he was trying to say and laughed, having a stab at the 'everything's alright now' approach. But a tear slipped down his cheek belying his distress.

Steve shook his head emphatically. "No, you're not stupid. It's the drugs, buddy. They did a job on you. Honestly, I wish I could kill Collins for what he did to you. And Ramirez. At least the two of them aren't likely to see the light of day again this lifetime after this. And Kono gave Collins a few love taps. That's something, right?"

Danny smiled weakly. He'd seen Kono's 'love taps' and wouldn't like to be on the receiving end. He kind of wished he'd seen her laying out Collins.

The sound of an excited young voice approaching rapidly down the hall outside made them both look towards the door.

"Gracie" Danny breathed, then shot Steve a grin. It faded to be replaced by a look of doubt.

Steve squeezed his hand. "Not real. She never hated you. Never."

The smile reappeared, hesitant at first, then positively beaming as Danny's beautiful daughter swept in through the door and leapt at her father, embracing him unrestrainedly.

Steve stood up and stepped back, letting out a shaky breath. He leant against the wall, watching the joyful reunion, and smiled hesitantly. The relief he felt at having Danny back in something approaching one piece was immeasurable, but Danny still had an uphill battle to face. Steve knew it well, because he'd been there himself. No way was Danny facing it on his own.

…..

 _Two weeks later_

Steve stood up, stretching lazily. He and Danny had been relaxing together on the Adirondack chairs in the shade of his back garden, staring out to sea in the warm Hawaiian afternoon. "I'm going to get a beer. You want some fruit juice?"

"No." Danny mumbled grumpily.

Steve smiled. "Good, I'll get you some."

Danny mumbled an acknowledgement. He leant back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment. He was exhausted. He'd had a great morning. Gracie had come over to Steve's and taken over like a not-so-tiny whirlwind, sweeping him along with her youthful enthusiasm and boundless affection. God, he loved her so much! He sighed happily, feeling totally relaxed, and slowly drifted into a light sleep.

A noise dragged him back towards consciousness, but with it came the merciless doubts and fears that were as yet never far from his mind. He drew in a panicked breath as his eyes snapped open.

Steve was right there in front of him, looking at him intently, eyes full of concern. "Easy partner. I'm still here. Still real."

Danny huffed out a few shaky breaths, crushing down the now familiar feelings of helpless terror and emptiness that had risen. He gritted his teeth as his head cleared, suddenly feeling nothing short of ridiculous. He'd been out of hospital for three days, he was eating better now, starting to put on weight. Everything was _fine._ He _knew_ everything was fine. Why the hell couldn't he shake off the feeling of panic that seemed to come to him every single _fucking_ time he opened his eyes? He sat forwards in the chair, leaning his elbows on his knees and putting his face in his hands.

He felt Steve's hand grip his shoulder and something snapped inside him. "I'm _fine._ Back off," he barked, then cringed because Steve hadn't deserved that. His frustration was with himself, not his friend. Steve had been fantastic. He'd been with him every step of the way, just being there, reminding him what was real and what was not at his weakest moments. Danny shook his head, hands dropping away from his face. He glanced up at Steve who had stepped back from him and was now looking out to sea, face blank. "Steve, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. _Shit."_

"It's okay." Steve answered absently.

Danny shook his head. "No, Steven, it is NOT okay. I'm being a dick. You know I'm being a dick and I should go. It's been great, staying here and all, but I need my own space and I _know_ everything's fine now and you do _not_ need me hanging out with you all the time biting your head off. Can you call me a cab? Or even better, I'll call HPD, get them to being me my car."

Steve didn't reply. He sat down in his chair again, handing Danny a glass of fruit juice. He took a swig from his beer, looking back out at the waves.

Danny turned to him, incredulous. "Are you even listening to me?"

Steve nodded. He took a moment, another long swig of beer, then turned to Danny. He stuck out his finger, pointing it at Danny's face. "Okay, _you_ listen to _me_. I _know_ you're not okay. I _know_ your head's still a mess. And you can bitch at me all you like, it's not like I'm not used to it, but you are staying with me until I say otherwise. Got it?"

Danny blinked a few times. He opened his mouth, ready to launch into a tirade about how he was an adult, how he didn't need a babysitter, particularly not a self-appointed control freak of a babysitter. But then he thought better of it because the simple fact was that Steve was right. Danny could cover it up with all the bluster in the world but it would change nothing. He deflated rapidly, sagging back in his chair. He took a sip from the glass of juice, then glanced at Steve again. His partner was watching him, waiting for a response. "How did you know?" Danny said simply.

Steve stared at him with a strange expression on his face, as if he was debating what to say. "Okay, firstly because I'm not blind. Secondly because I _know_ you. And…" he tailed off.

"And what?" Danny asked hesitantly.

Steve sat back in his chair and looked away again. He cleared his throat. "And also because of Wo Fat. The drugs Collins used you on- it was the same damn cocktail Wo Fat used me on. I remember the dreams, hallucinations, whatever, seemed as real as anything else. And I remember how long it took for my head to sort itself out. It was a while before I knew what was real and what wasn't when I first woke up and it was tough. I don't want you to have to go through that alone. Okay?"

Danny stared at him, slightly shocked at the level of voluntary sharing Steve had just come out with. Then he squeezed his eyes shut as the significance sunk in. Steve must have continued to awaken long after that terrible day believing his father was still alive, only to rediscover he had gone. Danny had known he had struggled, of course, and he'd pushed his way in and supported Steve as much as he could. But sometimes the man was a closed book, especially when he was feeling vulnerable. "Shit Steve. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry about your dad."

Steve shot him a shaky smile. "I know. You have _always_ been there for me, okay? And I don't care how grumpy you get because I've been where you are now so I get it. Sure, it's frustrating as hell but it just takes time for reality to be the first thing you remember, that's all. So, in the meantime, if you're not sure…," Steve gestured grandly to himself," ..here I am. Alive. I'm sticking with you till _I'm_ happy that your head's on right. Well, as right as it ever was. Got it?"

Danny stared at him. "Okay," he said, uncharacteristically meek.

Steve frowned and nodded once, brusquely. "Good. Now drink your juice then we'll go get something to eat. You're still skinny as hell."

Danny smiled. "Hey Steve?"

Steve looked over, eyebrows raised questioningly.

"Thank you." He held out his hand.

Steve smiled and grasped it tight. "Hey, it's my job to have your back, right?"

Danny smirked. "'It's my job' he says. Well, just for the record, I appreciate it. And I know I don't say it enough, but I'm glad you're not dead."

Steve laughed out loud, expression now openly warm and affectionate. "You know Danno, that might just be the sweetest thing you've ever said. I love you too, partner."

They settled back in their chairs together in companionable silence, watching the shifting sea. Danny thought of everything he had been told he had lost. A warm feeling grew inside that went with the knowledge that he still had it all. He knew Steve was right, he did have a way to go. But his family were around him and his best friend had his back, so he also knew he would get there.

Danny smiled broadly because there was no denying it. His life was pretty damn good.

THE END

 **So, that wraps up Tribute 1. Many thanks for the support, the reviews are hugely appreciated and it makes me smile whenever one pops into my mailbox! The next story in the series is on the way to being done and will be posted right here on 'Tributes' at some point in the next few weeks.**

The borrowed bits (just if you're interested, bypass if not)….

This story is a tribute to an episode of Airwolf from 1984 (gulp) called 'Echoes from the Past". The main borrowed elements were… The basic episode set-up; our hero is captured when he touches papers treated with a sedative. Then the faked coma and the setting on a private floor of a real hospital (which was a bit weird- the fake set-up in a random warehouse scenario would surely be easier from a practical point of view. However, I went with it!). Plus, the big give away for anyone who remembered the episode, calluses on our hero's hands were the thing that gave the game away. I thought it was so clever in the Airwolf episode at the time, although I do remember having to ask my mum what calluses were!

Everything else came from my own twisted imagination.

Loved the episode. It was at the height of the cheesy 80's though…don't know how it will have aged, think I last saw it in about 1990!

Anyway, thanks for reading!


	8. Tribute 2: Game of Chance (chapter 1)

**OK folks, here comes Tribute 2; "Life is but a Game of Chance." It's a tale of fate, luck and coincidence and is a tribute to possibly my favorite episode of anything, ever (sorry H50...although 3.06 has to run a close second).** **Prizes of honor and glory up for grabs for anyone who guesses the series and the episode this story is inspired by. Most of what gives it away is in the first chapter so if no one gets it straight away I'll drop some hefty clues- think it might just be a tricky one.**

 **There is….some Steve whump, Danny whump, team angst, hurt/comfort and bromance. Plus swearing and violence.**

 **Thanks to Irene Claire for the beta…any mistakes are my own.**

 **Disclaimer…Characters don't belong to me etc etc.**

TRIBUTE 2- LIFE IS BUT A GAME OF CHANCE

CHAPTER 1

Samuel Dobbs walked briskly, arms crossed in front of his body, shoulders stooped, the hood of his black sweatshirt pulled down low over his head. He walked with his face down but his eyes peered up through his dishevelled hair, darting to and fro, ever alert. It felt like the score bags were burning a hole in his pocket. He was no stranger to dealing smack but the area he'd been sent to this time was not one of his usual haunts. It was upmarket, classy. That put him on edge. He stood out here and he knew it. He just wanted to get the job done, get the money for his own hit. He didn't dare use what he'd been given to sell. Tony would kill him if he did, it was as simple as that.

He raised his head, checking his surroundings, feeling the relief seep into him as he saw the alleyway where he was to meet the client up ahead of him. Then he froze. There was a café on the main street, at the corner with the alleyway. It was still early, only just after 8am, but it was busy with customers, sitting at the outside tables, queueing for coffee to go, chatting and passing the time.

And there was a fucking cop there.

The uniform stood out a mile away. The cop wasn't looking Dobbs' way but, even from behind, Dobbs recognised him because that very same cop had arrested him more than once before. Without a doubt, if the cop clocked him, he would be after him. He would _know_ why Dobbs was there. He looked relaxed, standing chatting amiably to a tall, dark-haired man who Dobbs _thought_ he should know. His eye was drawn by a glint of gold on the hip of the second man. Fucking fantastic. They guy was Five-0. Casually dressed, but he was sure to be armed.

Dobbs stopped, ducking behind a display of leis. He watched, hoping the pair would move on. He unzipped his denim jacket and slid a hand inside, touching the reassuringly solid shape of his knife. It was his favoured weapon and simply reminding himself it was there made him feel stronger, more like he _used_ to be.

He screwed up his nose in distaste, because he _hated_ what he'd become. He would do _anything_ to go back to being the man he had been. Before the heroin had taken him the knife had been part of his way of life, his main source of income. He'd been skilled. His kills had been clean and silent. Gloves and an untraceable blade, slip it home in just the right place and leave it in there, sealing the wound so there's no messy blood splatter to scrub off your clothes. Silence the squeals before they even start. He had been one of the best.

But then his luck had changed. The accident, the crippling injury to his hand. The easy escape from the chronic pain he that had left him little more than a street junkie.

He stood, watching the cop, and felt a sudden yearning for the old days. He had _been_ someone then. People _feared_ him.

He'd never killed a cop. He'd killed many times in his 40 years of life. He'd killed for money, killed to survive, killed out of anger, killed just because he could…. but he'd never done a cop. He would _love_ to and watching the casual interplay between the old cop and the Five-0 guy re-awakened that itch.

He hated cops. They had it in for him. Always picking on him, bringing him in for any little thing. They were stupid though, only ever pinning the petty stuff on him. He was too smart to get caught for the big stuff. And therein lay the stumbling block. Dobbs' mind might be have been numbed by his addiction but he knew fine well if he did a cop, it might just not prove so easy to get away with it. If one of their own was murdered, they just wouldn't let it go, not ever. It was a line he wanted to cross but he didn't quite dare. Part of him thought if he ever did cross that line it would start something off. Break a dam that would spiral out of control. One would never be enough.

A shiver racked his body out of nowhere, jerking him back to reality. He wasn't rattling yet, but he knew it was only a matter of time. In a just few hours' time he'd be struggling.

He berated himself for letting his concentration slip. He would do whatever he had to do to finish the job, get the money, get his hit. Nothing else mattered.

….

Duke Lukela smiled at the tall man beside him in the queue. "So, you on your own today? Where's Detective Williams?"

"Danny?" Steve McGarrett smirked, then laughed out loud. "Danny, well, he's not having a good day."

Duke quirked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Steve smiled again, leaning forwards to whisper to Duke in a mock-conspiratorial manner. "Somehow, Danny managed to drop his cell down the toilet this morning."

Duke bared his teeth and hissed, cringing. Danny Williams was a great guy but his temper was legendary. He was certainly not the type to take a simple piece of bad luck like that in his stride without letting everyone who had the misfortune to be in his vicinity know all about it.

Steve nodded. "I know. And he's mad, even for him. He called me from Grace's cell when he was taking her to school. You should have heard him, and that was him being restrained because Gracie was with him!"

Duke shook his head and laughed. "I can imagine. Is it insured?"

"Yeah, but he's dropping it off with a friend who's good with that kind of thing on his way in. He's gonna see if he can fix it for him, or at least save his pictures." Steve pointed up towards the head of the queue in the popular café. It was busy, but it was busy for a reason. "That's why I came way out here- I'm wanted to get him some kick-ass coffee and malasadas, see if I can take the edge off his wrath. I've gotta spend the whole day with him after all! This place is meant to be the best. He's meeting me here, should be here just shortly in fact so brace yourself."

Duke took a step back away from Steve, taking a theatrical look at his watch. "Really? Oh is that the time. Gotta go, brah!" he said with a wry smile.

Steve put his hands out to his sides. "Hey, Duke, don't leave me to face him alone, man!"

Duke held the bag containing his own coffee-to-go aloft. "Hey, I've already got what I came for. Anyway, your partner, your problem. Good luck!" He turned with a wave and walked off towards his patrol car.

Steve nodded in resignation, then grinned to himself. No way would he ever admit it to Danny, but he got a real kick out of the man's fiery displays of temper. Sure, the coffee and malasadas were peace offerings but that didn't mean he wasn't going to tease his partner mercilessly about his misfortune, then sit back and watch the fireworks. It was how the two best friends operated, griping and poking and fighting like siblings, but never truly taking it to heart. At the end of the day, they had each other's' backs, always.

Steve looked up, pleased to discover he was finally nearing the front of the queue.

"Steve!" Duke's call had him turning back around again. The older man had come to a halt just a few feet away, facing away across the street. Frowning, Steve followed his line of sight, fixing on a figure in a light blue denim jacket skulking behind a display on the opposite sidewalk, black hoodie partially covering his face.

He didn't know him, but he knew what he was straight away. A heroin addict, a man whose only focus is getting his next hit. There was a fair chance he was either stealing or dealing himself to fund his habit. And, judging by the expression on what he could see of the face, they had caught him in the act of _something._

Steve felt a flare of adrenaline. The promise of a chase, the possibility of apprehending a criminal, always got his blood flowing, every single time. It made him feel _good._ The chances are it was petty crime, below his paygrade by rights, but no way was he turning a blind eye. Anyway, this level of crime it was Duke's bread and butter and by being in the right place at the right time he had made himself Duke's back-up.

The wide eyes and annoyed snarl on the face of the figure across from them spoke volumes. He knew he had been clocked. The man took to his heels, heading for a nearby alleyway.

"Duke!" Steve hollered. "Go after him. I'll box him off!"

…..

Steve's breath burned in his lungs as he ran flat out, arms pumping, trying to out-manoeuver the perp. He had gone down an alley parallel to that the addict had taken, Duke hot on his heels. Steve knew the streets like the back of his hand, knew just where he could cut through to get in front, hem him in, take him down.

Without breaking stride he vaulted a dumpster in his path, eyes up and ahead in case the man was faster than he looked. He heard something ahead; a scuffle. He poured on an extra spurt of speed. He hadn't thought Duke would catch up to the younger man but it sounded like he had underestimated him!

Steve rounded the last corner, sure he would see the junkie in front of him. He came to a stumbling halt. There was no sign of their quarry, but, lying gasping in a pool of blood was Duke Lukela.

"Duke!" Steve yelled in horror. He sprinted over to the fallen man, alert and scanning for the perp. Where the hell had he gone? Steve could see no sign.

He approached Duke, holstering his weapon with after a final hasty glance around, and dropped to his knees. He pulled open the older man's uniform and hissed when he saw the ugly, gushing stab wound in his chest.

A moment of shock gave way to practiced professionalism as Steve multi-tasked, shouting for paramedics on his phone, pressing his bodyweight over the wound to try to stem the flow of blood, talking to Duke whose eyes were open, unfocused, as he to breathe.

Then Steve heard a noise behind him. _Above_ him.

He turned sharply, just in time to see a shadowy figure jump off the roof behind him straight for his back. Steve couldn't move out the way without leaving Duke to take the impact. With no time to draw his weapon he simply raised his forearms, intending to strike the man in the head as he came down.

Steve lunged, but the guy had somehow twisted mid-leap and instead of impacting on his face, Steve made contact with a weapon he hadn't even seen coming. _A knife_.

The long blade deeply sliced into his right forearm, a line of sheer agony opening up that made him cry out and stumble backwards.

Steve recovered his poise, _fast_ , automatically blanking out the pain and turning to face his attacker. The man had landed nimbly on his feet a few steps away, dropping instantly into a balanced fighting stance- legs slightly apart, knees bent, hands raised.

Steve took in his moves, took in his appearance, cataloguing them in a fraction of a second as he reached to draw his gun. The un-named man might have looked like a junkie- pale and thin, dark eyes, blackened teeth- but he moved like a veteran of close-combat fighting. The knife was clutched in the left hand, the right hand looked…wrong. Missing fingers, he realised.

The man moved as fast as Steve did. As Steve made contact with the grip of his gun, the man launched himself, levelling a roundhouse kick that would have taken Steve out had he not reacted in the blink of an eye. He dropped to his knees on the ground to avoid it.

And then the man was on him. They grappled furiously on the ground, exchanging blows. Steve momentarily got the upper hand, pinning the guy on his back with his superior body weight. He punched the thin face, hard. He had a death grip on the man's left wrist, controlling the knife-bearing hand. He knocked that left hand against the pavement beneath them repeatedly, trying to dislodge the knife from his grip.

It clattered to the ground and the man sagged, eyes fluttering closed.

Breathing hard, Steve sat back. He reached for his cuffs.

As he moved, the man struck like a viper. He twisted his body, picking up his knife. Steve grabbed for his wrist again even as the blade was thrust towards him.

He missed.

Lightning quick and merciless, the man thrust his blade into Steve's abdomen.

Gasping at the sudden punch of stabbing agony, Steve grasped at the weapon with both hands. He tried to get a grip on it but only succeeded in slicing his fingers.

The junkie wriggled free and lurched to his feet, yanking the knife out as he went, leaving Steve bent over on his knees fighting for breath.

At that moment, the wail of approaching sirens drifted down the alleyway. The junkie turned and fled.

Steve blinked back tears of pain and drew his gun. Finally presented with an opening for a proactive offensive, he was not going to miss it whatever the hell condition he was in. He let off a volley of shots, but, with lightning reflexes, the man somehow managed to dodge out of the way. And then he was gone. As fast as he had struck, he disappeared, springing up a fence and back onto a low roof.

Growling in pain and clutching his gut but dogged to the last, Steve forced himself to his feet to give chase. Two strides later, a wave of light-headedness took him back to his knees.

Breathing raggedly, he looked over at Duke, whose eyes had drifted shut. He crawled back over to him. Kneeling in the ever growing pool of blood, Steve pressed one fist back onto the wound on Duke's chest, the other hand pushed hard into his own abdomen. He moaned in pain, black spots dancing in front of his vision as he felt blood running through his fingers, down his arm.

He swayed on his knees, but he would _not_ go down. It wasn't an option.

"Hang on Duke, help's coming," he hissed.

….

Danny whistled cheerfully as he drove, fingers tapping along to the music playing on the radio. He smiled to himself, idly watching the traffic in front of him. He was still pissed about his phone but Toast seemed to think he could get it going again. He had managed to recover Danny's photos in seconds and that was the only thing Danny really cared about. Grace was always telling him to back up his photos, or at least save them to the memory card, not just the phone's internal memory, but he had never got around to it.

He had a great picture of Grace kneeling on top of Steve with his arm bent up round his back. He sooo didn't want her to become a police officer but man did she have some of the moves already!

So, things had worked out okay. He had lost a bit of time, but that was it. Even better, he had a fine excuse to gripe at Steve, which was always entertaining, usually led to some good banter. Kind of like a sport for the both of them. He'd get as much mileage out of it as possible before coming clean. The thought made him smile mischievously, blue eyes twinkling.

The traffic, however, was murder. Knowing the place as well as he did, Danny took a turn onto a side street to try a sneaky short cut, smiling smugly when the narrow road proved empty.

Danny's meandering thoughts and general cheerful mood were then abruptly interrupted as, with no warning whatsoever, a fast moving figure burst out from a side alley right in front of his car. Danny barely had time to take in the black hoody, the denim jacket, the unkempt hair. Instinct took over and he stamped on the brakes, swerving violently in a vain attempt to avoid the guy.

It was too late.

The front corner of the Camaro clipped the man's legs, knocking them out from underneath him. He rolled up and onto the hood, impacting with the windscreen which crunched, a spiders web of cracked glass appearing in front of Danny's face as he fought his car.

Then it was over.

The car stopped, one wheel bouncing up onto the sidewalk as it came to a halt. The man rolled off the hood and lay still, face-up, on the pavement.

Danny sat frozen in shock for long moments, staring at the streaks of blood on his windscreen. Had he been going too fast? No, he was sure he hadn't. But the road was narrow, hazard visibility was bad. Maybe he _should_ have been going even slower. Shit! What if it had been a kid!?

Danny shook himself then, because he was a cop and he knew what to do at the scene of an accident blindfold. He reached for his phone, then squeezed his eyes shut for a fleeting moment. No phone. Shit!

The man still hadn't moved.

Danny flicked on his hazard lights and got out, leaving his car door wide open in his haste.

Supporting himself on shaky legs he walked up to the guy. There was blood running freely from a cut on the man's forehead, which was bad enough, but then Danny clocked the fresh blood coating the front of the guy's jacket. That couldn't be good. He was conscious, thank God- Danny could see his eyes blinking, his fists flexing. He grimaced then, because one of the guy's hands was missing two fingers. But they looked healed- an old injury.

Danny dropped into a crouch beside the guy, looking around for help. There didn't seem to be anyone around. "Don't try to move, buddy. I'm so sorry, I didn't see you. I mean, why were you running like that anyway, huh?"

There was no response.

"Okay, don't worry about that now. You're gonna be okay. Listen I'm going to have to find a phone, I've not got one. Stay here, you're gonna be fine. Just stay down, alright? I'll go call for help. Don't worry, it's all under control- I'm a cop."

Something flickered in the man's eyes. His gaze dropped to the badge on Danny's hip. His mouth narrowed and his jaw muscles clenched. Groaning, the man pushed at Danny, then got unsteadily to his knees.

"Woah, woah, woah! No! Listen, you're hurt. Stay down!" Danny put his hands gently but firmly on the man's shoulders and pushed him down. He blinked, looking at him more closely, then understanding dawned on him.

Pale, thin, rotten teeth…the guy was a heroin addict. No wonder he wasn't keen to stick around. There was a good chance he was carrying something he shouldn't be, an even better chance he was wanted for an array of petty crimes.

"Okay," said Danny, patting the man's shoulder gently, "listen to me. You get a pass today, okay? I'm not gonna arrest you, I just want to get you fixed up, huh? Now will you stay down till I go call for help?"

The guy stared at him, expression unreadable. He nodded.

Danny huffed out a breath. "Right." He turned his head, spotting an elderly man who had appeared in a doorway. He was watching the interplay as though it was going on TV. Danny stood up and waved to him. "Hey, can you do me a favour and call HPD?" he called out. "Tell 'em we need paramedics too, okay?"

Danny missed the shift in expression on the injured man's face. The blank, shocked expression disappeared, replaced by a sneer that held an ominous edge of anticipation.

A scuffling noise made Danny turn back. "Oh, you have to be kidding me," he spluttered. Not only had the injured man got to his feet, he had taken to his heels.

Danny huffed out a groan of frustration and disbelief. He turned around once more, addressing the old man again. "I'll be back, yeah? Call HPD."

The man nodded dumbly.

Danny took off in pursuit.

…..

Samuel Dobbs glanced backwards as he took off. He saw the blond cop kick into a run, hot on his heels.

Dobbs turned back round, putting on speed. He didn't have to fake the limp. He was bruised, for sure….but he felt better than he had for years.

He smiled hungrily.

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **PS Please drop me a review, feedback is always appreciated!**


	9. Tribute 2: Game of Chance (chapter 2)

**Thank you all for the kind reviews, made me very very happy! No guesses on the inspiration as yet...thought it might be a bit tricky. Hefty clue which will narrow it down hugely... it's a UK series and we're in the 80's again.**

 **Anyhoo, here's the next chapter. It's kinda long and I almost split it, hope you like it as it is...**

CHAPTER 2

Danny jogged steadily a short distance behind the retreating figure of the man he had hit with the Camaro. As it turned out he was pretty darn quick, for all he as running with a limp and one arm clutched to his side. Danny had made the decision to drop back, slow things down, pretty quickly after realizing the idiot was in danger of running headlong in front of another car if he kept up his headlong flight.

The guy had slowed in response, continually glancing back at Danny. He was sticking to side routes and alleyways, avoiding busy places, avoiding _people_. He plainly knew the area well.

Danny persisted in calling out to the man, hoping common sense would prevail. "Hey, buddy! I'm not gonna arrest you. I just want to make sure you're okay cause you sure don't look okay."

The man paid him no heed. He glanced back at Danny again before finding yet another burst of speed from somewhere, now sprinting once more with his uneven gait.

"Oh, come on!" Danny shouted out in exasperation. He couldn't afford to lose sight of him. With Danny's luck he would crawl into a hole with his junkie friends and die of a brain bleed. He might be an addict but he didn't deserve that. No way was Danny wanting that on his conscience.

Danny shook his head, cursing his bad luck, then set his jaw and increased his pace. He was going to catch up with the guy if it was the last thing he did.

….

Steve lay up on the gurney, teeth gritted and eyes squeezed shut, wishing the room would stop spinning.

Apparently he'd been incredibly lucky, although he didn't feel even remotely lucky right then. The knife had gone in through his belt- and that had saved him. The blade had still pierced deeply through skin and muscle. It had hurt like hell and bled alarmingly but a medley of scans and some exploratory work under a local had satisfied the medical personnel that none of his vitals had been compromised. And his arm- the savage slice had been long and deep but there was no nerve or tendon damage, no surgery required. The bandaged fingers on his left hand were hurting the most, the knife having left him with multiple lacerations that stung like a thousand paper cuts.

Overall he'd got away with two dozen stitches and no doubt a few new scars to add to his portfolio.

The doc had said he had to take it easy once he was released- go home and lie down, take a few days. The combination of drugs and blood-loss had left him undeniably groggy and light-headed. On top of that, he was reeling over what had gone down, over how horribly fast what should have been a straightforward takedown had gone so spectacularly wrong.

But he had work to do.

He glanced up at his IV- the bag was nearly empty, the last of the replacement fluids nearly in him. He wasn't cleared to leave yet but what needed to be done to help him had been done and that was enough for Steve. It was time to get moving.

First things first, he needed a ride. He pushed himself hesitantly up into a seated position, grimacing at the resultant tug on his new stitches, then reached out towards his clothes, piled neatly on the chair beside him. He fumbled in his pockets until he found his cell. He dialed Danny's office number, wondering vaguely why his partner hadn't materialized yet. He had to have been filled in on what had happened when he had finally turned up at the café and found half of HPD buzzing around.

The answering service clicked in. Steve frowned then hung up. It seemed pretty likely Danny had gotten tied up at the crime scene, although it was unlike him not to have made an effort to contact Steve, berate him for getting injured at the very least. He might not have his phone but he could surely have borrowed one.

He was rapidly distracted from his train of thought as the curtain around his gurney was pulled to one side. He looked up to see Chin Ho Kelly's sculpted features. The man had a bag in his hand no doubt containing fresh, non-blood soaked clothes for him to change into.

"Steve, how you doing, brah?" said Chin, smiling grimly at him.

"Fine. I'm fine." Steve muttered dismissively. "Any news on Duke?"

Chin walked over to him and, eyebrows raised and expression firm, pushed him back down onto the pillow. "Stay." He paused to make sure Steve did as he was told, then sank down into the chair. "Okay. The good news- Duke's out of surgery and he's stable." He shook his head slowly. "They nearly lost him, Steve, but he's holding his own. He's not out of the woods yet but it looks promising. His family are with him now."

Steve let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Good. That's good. But I take it there's bad news?"

Chin nodded. "You could say that. We got an ID on our perp from CCTV at the café and he's not someone we want running loose round the streets, that's for sure. His name is Samuel Dobbs. In his current incarnation he's a heroin addict and petty criminal. Funds his habit by dealing for Anthony Blake plus stealing from tourists on the side. There's a dozen outstanding warrants for him."

"I take it there's more, because he sure didn't fight like a junkie."

"Yes, there certainly is. He only got into heroin a couple of years back after losing part of his right hand in an automobile accident. The injury effectively ended his former career."

Steve narrowed his eyes. "Which was….?"

"Well, he was never pinned down for it but he was a suspect for several murders on the mainland. Hits linked to the Blake family. He looked good as the Blake family's paid hitman and apparently a good one, given he was never caught out. Current intel is that he's remained on the payroll but just in a much more lowly form now."

Steve blew out a breath. "Well that would explain the skills he showed. A step above your average drug addict."

Chin shook his head slowly. "Yeah, you could say that. HPD have the city center sealed off, but Dobbs could be long gone. Lou and Kono are going through the CCTV we have available to try to track him. So far it looks like he knows the routes to take to avoid being seen."

"I want him." Steve's tone was flat, ominous.

"Yeah. And we'll get him. But right now I'm taking you home. You were stabbed, _twice,_ less than three hours ago, Steve. You've got to take it easy."

Steve snorted. "I can take it easy once we're got Dobbs. Chin, we need to make sure HPD know this guy is to be handled with care if they find him first. We want him contained but on no account do I want anyone approaching him but 5-0. He's armed and he's extremely dangerous. He's crossed a line today, attacking cops in broad daylight. And he _came back_. He could have made good his escape but he came back to take me on. Seriously Chin, you should have seen his face. He was getting a kick out of using that knife. Now I'm damn sure he's capable of anything."

…..

Danny groaned as his quarry vaulted neatly over a high security gate. He had made up ground rapidly as they pounded further away from central Honolulu and out towards the docks to the south-east. He'd only been a few strides behind, almost close enough to make a grab for him.

Panting hard, Danny leaned against the gate, peering through the wire. The guy had slowed right down now there was a barrier between them. He was still glancing back at Danny repeatedly as he limped painfully away from him towards the huge building inside the security fence.

Danny watched as the man yanked on the handle of a rusty door. The detective turned away, looking around in the hope of seeing someone who could call HPD, call Steve, and let them know what was happening.

There was no one.

He hesitated, contemplating abandoning his pursuit. It would make sense to call in his location now it looked like the man might be going to ground.

But then he looked back at the now-distant figure. The junkie suddenly seemed weak and wobbly. He had managed to open a door but was now holding onto it to keep himself upright. He looked towards Danny once more. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, then the injured man staggered. He went down to one knee before hauling himself back to his feet, then all but fell through the doorway, landing on his knees inside the building. The door swung shut behind him.

Danny groaned again. The guy was fading fast. Danny should get him in the recovery position before he went for help. It would be just typical if he went for help first and came back only to find the idiot had passed out on his back and choked to death in his own vomit.

Danny looked up at the building. 'Haikani Fish Processing' was emblazoned across the brick frontage, paint peeling with age. It had to be four storeys high- a big plant in its day- but it was plainly disused. Weeds had grown up through the cracked concrete of the parking lot and litter blew in circles, scattered by the warm Hawaiian breeze. Danny scanned the façade of the building, working on cop auto-pilot, cataloguing potential entrances and exits. Two doors on the ground floor. Windows on the top two floors only. Not many easy ways in and out.

Danny shook his head, cursing his luck and hoping like hell the place had been disused long enough for the stench of fish to go away.

He backed up a few steps and took a run at the gate.

…

"No back seat driving. I can drive my own car just fine." Chin shot a warning glance Steve's way as the taller man buckled himself carefully into Chin's passenger seat, wincing as he moved his left arm, encased in a sling, the wrong way. He settled awkwardly, right hand resting protectively over his abdomen.

Steve snorted, begrudgingly appreciating Chin's attempt to lighten the mood. "Yeah, yeah. Just take me to my truck, smartass. You're as bad as Danny."

Chin shook his head, still torn between scornful disbelief and pride at his boss' insistence on carrying on as if he'd just grazed his knee. He really shouldn't have expected anything else, but he lived in hope. Maybe just maybe, Chin thought, Danny might have stood more of a chance of convincing Steve he was borderline insane.

Chin started his engine resignedly. "Where _is_ your other half today, anyway? Family thing? I tried to call him but it went straight to his voicemail."

Steve stared at him for a second, blinking as tendrils of concern rose up in his gut. "No. He was gonna be a bit late. He broke his cell so he was going to take it to Toast." He glanced at his watch. "He should have been in hours ago."

Chin shrugged, frowning worriedly at Steve. "That's strange. No sign. That's not like him."

Steve shook his head wordlessly. He pulled out his phone, fingers fumbling in his haste, meaning to call Toast to see if Danny had been delayed. His phone rang before he had a chance to dial.

"McGarrett", he barked.

 _"Commander, it's Officer Pua."_

"Pua. What can I do for you?" said Steve, flicking the cell onto loud-speaker.

 _"Commander, I've just attended a call to a traffic collision. A car hit a pedestrian a couple of hours ago. The man that called it in said the driver and the pedestrian both left the scene on foot so dispatch de-prioritised it as non-urgent with everything else that was going on."_

"Okay. So… "

 _"It's Detective Williams' car, sir."_

Steve exchanged an anxious glance with Chin. "Pua, where are you. Tell me where it happened?" he punched out, gripping his phone furiously.

 _"It's four blocks south of the alley where you and Sergeant Lukela were stabbed. It's got to be a coincidence, right, Commander?"_

 _….._

Steve stood staring at the Camaro's shattered windscreen, at the blood on the hood, as though it could tell him what had happened if he glared hard enough. He turned worried eyes to the rest of his team. "It's gotta be him, it's gotta be Dobbs. I do _not_ believe in co-incidences."

Lou stepped alongside him, reading his concerns loud and clear. They all shared them, of course because the logical explanation for Danny's prolonged absence right then came from a pretty short list of very bad things. Still, Lou felt the need to spout some positive words. "Steve, Danny can handle himself. I'm sure he'll be fine."

Steve almost laughed. He shook his head, rejecting the attempt to sooth his concerns outright. "I know he can, Lou. But it's been nearly three hours now. You know as well as I do he'd have made some kind of contact by now if everything was okay. What we have is a suspect who's already stabbed two cops today. He's run out in front of Danny's car and he might have been injured but he was able-bodied enough to bolt. And Danny's gone after him. He was trying to help him. Danny's gonna have no idea what he's dealing with!"

Steve's expression suddenly became even more intense. "Shit. Danny just dropped off Grace. He might not…." He broke off and walked round to the open driver's door, grabbed the Camaro's keys from the ignition, then walked to the back of the vehicle and popped the trunk. He unlocked the secure lock box inside and swore.

"Boss?" said Kono with trepidation.

Steve stood up, holding out Danny's gun. "He's chasing a trained assassin and he's not even armed."

 _…_

Danny pulled the factory door open with care, assuming the junkie would be lying just inside.

There was no sign of the man.

He hesitated, peering around the narrow corridor behind the door. It was dark. He blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes to adjust. His claustrophobia inevitably clawed its way to the forefront of his mind and his palms began to sweat. He focused on a square of faint light a short way along the shadowy hall and made himself walk towards it, one careful step at a time.

It was a window overlooking the interior of the plant. He grabbed the sill and peered through, raising his eyes to search out the source of the light. He latched onto it, gazing up at the trickle of sunlight that was filtering in through the rusted vestiges of the corrugated iron roof far above him. He realized he was seeing it through the fragmentary remains of a series of wooden floors, supporting beams appearing as skeletal silhouettes in the gray half-light. It appeared that the building was partially brick-built, partially wooden, and the hot, wet Hawaiian climate had done the place no favors. The brick shell of the building was the only thing surviving relatively intact.

He cast his eyes around the interior of the structure from his solid viewpoint. The floor within on the level where he stood was gone and he could see down to what must have been the main work-floor in the basement below. The rusted remains of the fish-processing equipment were visible amongst the medley of shadows cast from above. Great diesel engines, vats and conveyor belts wound around the lower level, fragmentary and no doubt partially robbed for scrap.

Scaffolding, rusted with age, towered from basement to roof against the far outer wall. He wondered if it was part of some long-abandoned renovation project or if it was actually supporting the wall. If it was the latter, he hoped to hell it was still doing a good job.

Danny felt entirely uneasy. The eerie shadows, the stench of fish, the aroma of damp and rotting wood and the metallic tang of rust, the drip-dripping of unseen water and the distant creak of parts of the old building moving in the gentle breeze all combined to make the situation feel fundamentally _wrong._

He wanted to leave.

He fought his instincts, holding his ground. He turned and looked around the narrow brick-walled corridor, hoping for some indication of where the idiotic man had gone. He looked down at the ground. Rain had to run through the whole building because there was no dust, no helpful footprints.

Easing out a shaky breath, Danny finally allowed himself to take a backwards step towards the exit. It was illogical to go further. What had started off as a run of simple bad luck was rapidly deteriorating into something that had the potential to be a classic insane rescue mission worthy of Steve himself. But Danny was not Steve. He wanted to help the guy, of course, and he would. But he had a sense of self-preservation and he had a daughter who needed him more than some injured junky. Hunting for him alone around an unsafe building would be nothing short of crazy.

Mind made up, he turned towards the door.

A low moan made him freeze in his tracks. He eyed the murky darkness of the corridor with trepidation. "Hello?"

There was no response.

"Look, stay where you are, huh?" he called out, "I'm just gonna go call for help, I'll be back. Just don't move, yeah?"

Danny took another step towards the door.

"No," the weak, distant voice croaked, the noise echoing unnervingly through the building. "Please, I'm bleeding. Don't leave me. I-I've got a cell. I can't get to it. I j-just c-can't move my arm anymore. Y-you can use it."

Danny frowned. He licked his lips nervously. The situation felt _wrong_. It wasn't just the place. It was the guy too. He had run- so why get co-operative now? His hand went automatically to his empty hip and he closed his eyes for a moment, cursing the fact he had no weapon.

The man cut into the silence his hesitancy created, seemingly reading his thoughts. "Please! It won't stop bleeding. I'm sorry I ran. I didn't realize it was this bad…..I'm-I'm scared."

There was an edge of desperation in his tone that re-awakened Danny's unfounded but very real feelings of guilt over the cause of said injuries. He sagged in resignation, then squared his shoulders. "Okay. Okay. Keep talkin'. I'll find you."

Danny took a last, longing look at the door, blew out a shaky breath and walked into the gloom.

"Where the hell are you?" He barked, hiding his uncertainty behind a gruff tone.

"End of the hall. J-just up the stairs," came the tremulous reply.

Danny puffed out a nervous breath. His instincts screamed at him to turn back but he simply had to do what he knew was the right thing. He made his way to the end of the corridor where a narrow flight of wooden steps climbed steeply upwards into complete darkness. He stood at the bottom, worst case scenarios skipping through his head.

The stairs could collapse. The _building_ could collapse.

But the guy could bleed out. He had no choice.

He placed a hesitant foot on the first wooden step, grimacing at the resultant ominous creak the old wood produced. A gust of wind blew into the shell of a building, scattering leaves and old papers around like confetti, sending a chill down his spine.

Danny combed a hand back through his hair out of habit, steeled his nerve and pushed on up the stairs. The total darkness of the stairwell seemed to close in on him, trapping him. His breaths came fast, in and out through his nose. He gritted his teeth so tightly his jaw ached. He sat firmly on the panic that was threatening to rise and forced himself onwards. He couldn't stop now.

Feeling his way along, he turned a sharp corner in the stairs and exhaled in relief as he saw dim light ahead. The stairwell was opening up again onto the next floor- another corridor directly above the one he had entered through.

He hesitated, taking a moment to ensure his features were composed, that his disquiet wasn't reflected in his face. He climbed the last few steps.

And there he was- the junkie was lying on the wooden floor beside a fire-door, a few meters along the corridor. The man was lying curled up on his side, hands between his knees, shaking and panting. Injured, maybe rattling for his fix too. Danny eyed the man's head with concern. The gash looked nasty, needed stitches. He frowned at the blood-soaked shirt, knowing for sure it would take a serious injury to cause that much bleeding.

The man glanced up at him, pain and fear in his eyes easily readable in the dim light.

Danny shot him what he hoped would pass for a reassuring smile. "Hey. Easy buddy. My name is Danny. What's yours?"

"S-Samuel. Sam. Dobbs."

Danny stepped closer. "Okay Sam. I'm real sorry, okay? I didn't see you, I couldn't stop in time. I'm gonna help you now, yeah? "

The figure nodded silently.

"Okay, where's your cell?"

"F-front pocket. Jacket."

"Okay. We'll get you fixed right up, huh?"

Danny bent over the man, placing a hand on his shoulder, then dropped to his knees. He patted down Dobbs' pockets with care, mindful that he might be carrying needles. The last thing he needed was to get stuck by one of those.

After a moment Danny shook his head. "I can't feel it in there. Is it on the other side? Are you lying on it?"

Danny glanced at the man's face at that moment and caught the exact moment his expression morphed from pain and fear into pure, unadulterated hate.

Danny swore as the man twisted beneath him, belatedly realizing his instincts had been spot on. His eyes widened as a blade, that had been concealed between Dobbs' knees, flashed up towards his chest. He threw himself backwards out of the way but the man followed him, lightning quick, all sign of injury evaporating in an instant. Before Danny could raise a hand in defence the guy had dropped onto him.

The knife flashed down towards him.

Danny tried to grab it, to stop it.

He missed.

White hot agony tore through him as the weapon buried itself deep in his shoulder, grating nauseatingly along the underside of his collar bone. He cried out in anguish, scrabbling desperately against the merciless pressure, trying in vain to get a hold of the handle then grabbing at the thrusting arms instead, hands suddenly too numb to be truly effective.

Dobbs, crouched astride Danny's hips, gripped the weapon with both hands. Grunting with effort, he leaned down on it with his full weight, driving it ever deeper. He smirked in satisfaction as his blade sunk in to the hilt.

Dobbs brought his face down close to Danny's, his rancid breath puffing against Danny's cheeks as the detective tried in vain to fight the attack. "You like that, pig? C'mon, I want to hear you squeal. You fucking had to follow me, didn't you? That just worked out fine, because I've got a taste for this today. Only this time I'm not gonna get interrupted."

"Fuck you!" Danny spat between ragged breaths, barely hearing Dobbs' spiteful words as he heaved frantically against the man's arms, tears of pain blurring his vision.

Dobbs smiled wolfishly at him, then yanked out the blade in one smooth motion.

Danny's vision nearly whited out and he cried out hoarsely, hands falling limply to his sides. He blinked, trying to clear his eyes, only to see the glint of the knife coming back down towards his chest, Dobbs' teeth bared in aggression, his eyes gleaming with bloodlust.

Danny's scrabbled blindly around, fumbling for _anything_. His right hand made contact with _something_ , something solid, it felt like wood. He grasped it reflexively and swung it up towards his attacker's head with all the strength he could muster. He barely registered the 'clunk' as it made contact, all but blinded by the fiery pain in his shoulder.

Dobbs slumped off him to the side, out cold.

Danny lay for a moment, trembling from head to foot, face screwed up in pain, clutching his shoulder and fighting for breath through tightly clenched teeth. Shockwaves of agony rippled through his body and he gagged, rolling onto his side and drawing his knees up towards his chest as he dry heaved miserably.

Blood was gushing between his fingers at an alarming rate and Danny's vision began to darken. But he couldn't pass out! It simply wasn't an option. He had to act, he knew he had to secure the guy before he came around again or he'd be completely and totally screwed.

Battling light-headedness, pain and nausea, Danny dug deep and forced himself up to his knees, grasping his shoulder tight in a vain attempt to dam the flow of blood.

He peered around desperately for a handy length of cable, or rope, or _anything_ , wishing his cuffs weren't still in his car along with everything single other thing that could have been of use to him. He could see nothing helpful. Moaning in pain, he pushed himself shakily to his feet, leaning heavily against a wall. The floor seemed to shift beneath him and he staggered, sheer determination alone keeping him upright.

He eased himself along the wall to peer through the cracked, dirty glass of the narrow window of the old fire-door, hoping there might be something he could use in the corridor beyond. There was- on the ground a few meters beyond the door was something that looked a hell of a lot like a roll of duct tape. Danny almost laughed out loud at the unexpected stroke of luck. Duct tape could work; not just for securing Dobbs- it could also and could come in handy for some Steve-esque first aid too, because he was sure as hell gonna have to do something before he passed out from blood loss.

Danny pushed through the old door, which gave way reluctantly with a harsh creak. He was feeling increasingly vague and knew he would have to act fast before he inevitably went down. He grabbed the tape with trembling fingers, feeling a spark of elation when he saw the stuff still looked half-decent.

He dragged himself back to the door on legs that now felt like jelly. He went to push his way back through and froze. His heart dropped like a stone.

Dobbs was gone.

 **There it is...please drop me a review and let me know what you thought of that ridiculously long installment!**


	10. Tribute 2: Game of Chance (chapter 3)

**So pleased people are enjoying this! Loved the reviews so much :) :)**

 **No one getting anywhere near guessing the inspiration though and all the borrowed elements were introduced in the first two chapters. Maybe not surprising as it was a long time ago and I think it's only been released on DVD in Australia for some reason. I can't see it on the net either.**

 **Another clue then.. It's UK, I _thought_ it was 80's but I just looked it up and this ep was actually 1991. And..the series was a long running cop show, gritty in the early years but tragically transformed into a soap opera in the mid 90's (at which point I stopped watching). UK people _have_ to know it from that...? Any UK people out there...?**

LIFE IS BUT A GAME OF CHANCE

CHAPTER 3

Steve barked out orders in every direction, having automatically assumed control of the operation to find Dobbs and Danny. The side road where Danny's car had been found was sealed off for recording and forensic examination, as was the alleyway where the attacks had taken place. A temporary command centre had been set up just outside the crime scene tape, within sight of the Camaro. Command and control trucks and police cruisers were parked as far as the eye could see.

Now search teams were moving in every direction, in vehicles, on foot and in choppers overhead. The hunt was on for the men, for witnesses, for any material evidence of the route they had taken. HPD units had been dispatched to find all of Dobbs' know associates, to search their houses, their vehicles, their lock-ups. The man himself seemed to be homeless. They could find no record of a home address at all.

Lou, Chin and Kono, fully suited up in TAC gear, stood a short distance back from Steve, motionless in the hubbub of activity, awaiting his instructions. The man's domination of the situation was absolute, his intensity electric, every command obeyed instantly and without question. He was a focal point in the surrounding blur of noise; men shouting, police dogs barking, engines and sirens, rotor blades whirring overhead.

But the rest of the Five-0 team watched their leader's every move closely, periodically exchanging concerned glances. He was white as a sheet, his pallor exaggerating the deep shadows below his eyes so he looked plain sick. The icy demeanor he was exuding may have seemed fearsome to some, but his team knew him too well. The apparent coldness was simply a façade bourn of decades of training and a lifetime of repressing his emotions. He was an organisational machine, for sure, but he wasn't detached and he was far from cold. He was exhausted and in pain and angry and stubborn and just plain scared. The man was running on adrenaline alone, terrified for the safety of his best friend and simply not willing to entrust his welfare to anyone else.

They all knew the crash had to be coming.

As the last search party marched away, his instructions still ringing in their ears, Steve turned and leant heavily against a car, suddenly unbearably light-headed.

Kono stepped forwards and laid a hesitant hand on his back, half-expecting an explosion. She opened her mouth to speak, to plead with him to take a break, but was interrupted by a sudden ruckus from beyond the crime scene tape, from near to the Camaro.

A dog had started barking, focused and intense. His handler yelled over to them. "We've got something! We might have a trail!"

And then they were off, Steve shaking off his weak moment in a heart-beat. He shrugged off his sling, ducked under the tape, and sprinted hard on the heels of the dog handler and his German Shepherd.

The dog had picked up a track, for sure. Whether or not it might relate to Danny or their perp remained to be seen, the science of dog-tracking being frustratingly imprecise. But as they ran, the dog, head down, was sticking to side routes and alleyways. The trail had been left by someone who was avoiding busy places, avoiding _people._ Maybe someone who knew the area and someone who had something to hide. It felt _right_.

But they couldn't have covered more than a quarter of a mile when Hawaii took the opportunity to remind them why it's so green and why it's so lush. It started to rain. A few big, heavy drops quickly give way to a torrential downpour. The dog's headlong rush ground to a halt and he walked great circles at the end of his leash, panting, long tongue lolling, sniffing hard. He stopped, then turned and looked up at his handler.

The cop shook his head. "Sorry, Commander. He's lost it."

Steve didn't reply. The dog handler turned back to his animal, encouraging him to try, leading him around in larger circles, further from the Five-0 team.

Steve, breathing hard, put his hands on his head, grimacing as he moved his injured arm, but moving it nonetheless. He paced around in short circles, his dizzying movements echoing those of the dog. His team eyed him with concern.

A few long moments later, Steve finally raised his eyes. He met Chin's piercing gaze and opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out. He staggered, nearly went down, but managed to brace himself against a wall in the nick of time, back hard against it, head leant back into the brickwork. He gasped for breath through gritted teeth, eyes tight shut.

The team were at his side instantly.

"Boss! Take it easy!" Kono exclaimed, gripping his arm tightly.

Chin moved to his other side, ready to support him if he fell.

Lou stood in front of him. Never one to beat around the bush, he clamped a big hand on Steve's shoulder and addressed him in a low voice. "Steve, c'mon man, this is crazy. You need to stand down. You know you can let us handle this."

Steve's eyes snapped open. He rounded on Lou, all his frustrations suddenly and entirely undeservedly directed on his hapless team-mate. "So what, Lou?" he spat, "You think I should go home, put my feet up, maybe get some sleep? How the hell am I meant to do that? Danny is my partner and I'm meant to have his back. If you think I'm gonna do that, you don't know me at all."

Lou shook his head and let out a long-suffering sigh. He gripped Steve's shoulder even harder, trying to calm his friend down. "OK, Jeez, easy man, I know, I know. But right now, our attention is on _you,_ we're following you about, waiting for you to go down because you might be some crazy-ass SEAL but you are _not_ up to this. I get that you're crazy worried about Danny. We _all_ are. But you've got to trust us with this, let us take the lead. None of us expect you to go home but at least, I don't know, go sit in a squad car, you can still search- we'll get someone to drive you about. _Please._ "

Steve was silent. His gaze shifted to Kono, who nodded in silent agreement, expressive eyes filled with concern. He turned to look at Chin.

Chin held his gaze. He took a step forwards then turned to stand shoulder to shoulder with Lou. "He's right, Steve. Take a step back, please!"

Steve looked from one face to the next, an illogical feeling of betrayal rearing its ugly head. Then he finally saw the fear, the concern, in his friends' eyes.

He sagged in defeat.

….

Danny lay propped against the wall of the corridor, legs out in front of him, gulping for air and trying desperately not to vomit. His fingers clawed convulsively at the material of his slacks as he fought to regain control. Sucking in a breath that was perilously close to a sob, he forced himself to look down at his handiwork. He'd managed to create a pressure bandage from a rolled up section of his shirt and the duct tape. The process had left him white, shaky and drained, but it looked like it was doing the job. It still hurt like _hell,_ but blood was no longer flowing down his body _._ Steve would _definitely_ be impressed.

He shivered, cold in his blood-soaked wife-beater and slacks, then hoped like hell he wasn't going into shock. It was a distinct possibility. He knew he should lie down, elevate his feet, get the blood flowing to his vitals to try to stave it off. The thought made him smile a little because he knew in reality he had to do exactly the opposite- get to his feet, somehow avoid that maniac Dobbs and get the hell out of there, get help.

He would never, ever admit it to the man, but he really, really wished Steve was with him. Hopefully he'd be out looking- he'd have been pissed then worried when Danny didn't show at the café. HPD should be well aware of the accident by now anyway and the news would rapidly filter through. But they would have no idea where to look. Danny had to have pursued Dobbs for well over a mile and they hadn't passed a single person.

He had to assume he was on his own.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to _think._

Going back to the exit the way he came was the sensible option. He knew the going was relatively safe, knew the door to the outside world would open. But then there was Dobbs to consider. Danny had no idea what the guy's intentions were. Maybe he'd just bolted. Maybe he was still in the building, nursing his head and waiting for another crack at him. Going out the way he came in would be the obvious thing to do- so Dobbs could be lying in wait.

What was the alternative? Dropping out of a third floor window? Again, he wasn't Steve, he didn't bounce when he fell then land on his feet, looking heroically disheveled and entirely unflustered. Yeah, that would have to be Plan B. Maybe Plan C. Then he remembered there was a second door on the ground floor, at the opposite end of the building to where he was, of course. It could be tricky to open if it had been shut for years but at least he would be marginally less likely to encounter Dobbs. He'd give it a go.

Mind made up, he allowed himself to take a moment, to lean his head back against the wall. He shivered. He really, really wanted to lie down and go to sleep. Maybe he could. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe he'd miraculously wake up again in a nice, clean, bright hospital, superSEAL hovering over him with some version of aneurism face or other in place, ready to lecture him about the power of positive thinking.

Steve would probably have shot Dobbs clean off the top of the building in the process of rescuing Danny, or maybe he'd have tied a grenade round his neck. He'd do something like that, for sure, animal that he was. Although Dobbs was totally asking for it, all things considered. Yeah, Danny would be good with the application of some classic SEAL methods on this occasion. He would even say 'thanks' to Steve. That might just earn him one of those elusive goofy grins that always brightened up his day just a touch. That right there was another thing he'd never admit to Steve, of course, no way. It was true though. His friend had been dealt so many crappy hands in life it was always good to see a genuine smile on his face.

And then Gracie would bounce in to see him in his nice clean hospital room, all warm and affectionate and just beautiful. How did she get so beautiful? It never ceased to amaze him that he and Rachel had created something so perfect. Maybe she'd have made him a card. She was so thoughtful. Grown up now, too.

Danny smiled softly as his thoughts drifted aimlessly along. His eyes fluttered shut and he slumped further down the wall.

 **So, please let me know what you thought AND any ideas on the series/ep this is a tribute to...?**


	11. Tribute 2: Game of Chance (chapter 4)

**Prizes of honor and glory positively flooding out now...Karen, Tracey450 (again!), purpledogsarecrazy, deborah. a . earle and JazzieG you have got the series right! It's the UK, it's 1991 and the series is 'The Bill'. Can anyone get the specific episode this story is inspired by for more honor and glory than can possibly be imagined?! All the clues are already out there...**

 **Anyhoo, back to Danny...**

CHAPTER 4

Danny's eyes snapped open in panic. He inhaled sharply, then moaned as sharp claws of fiery pain dug deep into his shoulder. He breathed hard, trying to ride it out.

He had fallen asleep…or passed out. Either way he certainly hadn't made a conscious decision to close his eyes. It wasn't a good sign. He needed help. He had to move.

He looked around through bleary eyes.

He figured the corridor he was in was directly over the one on the ground floor he had come along looking for Dobbs. If he stayed on this floor and walked to the far end, hopefully, if he was lucky, there would be a second set of stairs downwards there. That _should_ bring him out right by the untried door without retracing his steps at all. It played it through in his mind a couple of times, his thought processes frustratingly slow. Yep. Seemed like the safest thing to try.

He pushed himself painfully to his feet, then stood leaning heavily against the wall as the corridor seemed to spin around him. He gulped repetitively, trying to suppress his nausea and willing the light-headedness away. He failed, and his knees started to sag as waves of pain continued to roll over him, as rhythmic and uncontrollable as the tide.

He wanted nothing more than to lie back down.

But he _had_ to fight it, he had to move. He knew how to motivate himself. He simply pictured Gracie's beautiful face one more time, drew strength from it. Determination flooded through him. Panting hard with the effort, he straightened his legs again, raised his eyes and looked into the shadows ahead.

Danny steeled his nerve and began to walk, one shuffling step at a time, along the narrow corridor. He tried to be quiet- tried not to give away his position to his unseen foe. The wooden floor creaked unpredictably, each unexpected noise making his stomach clench, his heart pound in fear.

He wasn't accustomed to feeling like this. Sure, he griped and moaned at Steve for each and every dangerous situation his gung-ho partner put them in, but he rarely meant it. It was just his way of letting off steam, of dealing with the adrenaline highs and lows. Steve knew it and largely ignored him, knowing well that for all his complaining, Danny was a battle-hardened cop, as able and as brave as they come. His tolerance of Danny's ways was one of the things Danny loved about his friend.

But now he felt vulnerable. He was injured, he was horribly weak and he was unarmed. He couldn't afford another stand-off with Dobbs. It would be suicide.

There were several windows along the corridor, glass long gone. None opened to the outside of the building. They all overlooked the dark chasm within, terminating in the basement work floor far below. His eyes strayed fearfully whenever he passed one, darting between the multitude of dark vantage points in the ruined interior of the building. He felt like there were a dozen eyes watching him. He stopped every few meters, turning slowly to check his back, scarcely daring to breathe in case Dobbs was there, lurking in the shadows with his big, sharp knife.

From elsewhere in the building came a muffled thump.

Danny froze, listening intently with suspicion and quiet dread, heart in his mouth. A sudden and protracted screeching noise made him jump, made his hair stand on end. He swallowed hard, trying not to panic, searching his mind frantically for a banal explanation. A gust of wind, perhaps, working at loose metal sheeting.

Then there was silence. Danny blew out a few calming breaths, leaning back against the wall and praying desperately that his luck would hold, praying that Dobbs had simply left.

The stairs were where he'd hoped they would be. They were pitch black and laced with cobwebs and he eyed them with both relief and trepidation as he approached. He forced his way into the blackness, nausea and panic hammering at his resolve, making him want to curl up in a ball, or simply _run._ He did neither, feeling his way down carefully, eyes shut tightly against the dark, against the feeling of being trapped, the feeling of being watched, ignoring the clinging tickle of the webs that felt so like fingers brushing past his face.

The corridor below, the one where his hellish misadventure in this death-trap of a building had begun, seemed bright after the stairwell. He swiped at the cobwebs on his face, regretting it when the movement pulled on his wound. He grabbed at it, suppressing an exclamation of pain with a superhuman effort.

The untried door was just meters from the bottom of the stairs. He couldn't help the weak smile that came to his lips when he saw it, the surge of relief that, groggy as he was, he'd come the right way.

The door was metal and it was rusted. It was bolted shut on the inside. He went to it, anticipation of getting the hell out of the building almost pushing him to a run. His sweaty fingers fumbled on the bolt. When it finally moved, it snapped open with a loud, metallic 'clack' that seemed to reverberate around the whole building.

 _Shit!_

Danny froze for an instant, listening.

He heard movement. It was unmistakable; footsteps, coming closer, coming for _him_. He turned the door handle and pushed. Nothing happened. He yanked at the handle, rattling it, a whine of frustration coming from somewhere deep inside him. The door wouldn't budge.

Frantic, he threw his body weight against the offending obstacle, inevitably crying out in pain at the impact.

It didn't shift, none of it. Top to bottom it didn't give a millimeter. He had kicked in enough doors in his time to know what that meant. His panicked vision searched and then settled on a bright and shiny keyhole. Yes, there was a lock. And the door might be old but the lock was new. A modern, a multi-point deadbolt. No _way_ could _anyone_ kick that in. He'd need to pick the lock, or unscrew the hinges, or use a freaking _blowtorch._ He had nothing, no tools, nothing to improvise with.

He was completely and totally screwed.

The footsteps were getting louder and louder, if seemed like they were nearly upon him.

He stumbled backwards, back towards the stairs, back into the shadows, panting in terror, looking desperately around for something, anything, he could use as a weapon. He should have kept the wood he'd hit Dobbs with, why the hell didn't he keep the wood?!

Then the noise stopped.

He stood, tense. Listening. Scared to move, scared he would give himself away.

He heard something new. A metallic rattle, short and sharp. It was close, maybe further down the dark depths corridor, but he couldn't see the source.

"Daaaaaannyyyyy." The sing-sing voice cut through the silence.

Danny jumped in fright. Dobbs. He bit his lip, pushing himself back against the wall, trying to make himself invisible for all Dobbs had to know exactly where he was already.

"Danny-boy. I've locked the other one too, just in case you're wondering. I've got the keys, see?" The rattling noise came again.

Danny's heart sank as the reality of the situation sank in. He was trapped. Dobbs had him. Why?! Because he had hit him with his car? Because he was a cop? Just because he was fucking nuts?

The infuriating voice came again. "You want the keys? Come and get them, Danny. Come find me!"

Danny ignored him. No way was he playing Dobbs' game! _No way_. It would be _insane_ in his condition. A confrontation was absolute last resort. He'd just have to chance it, go back up the stairs fast, try to stay ahead of Dobbs, get up to the third floor where the windows opened out the way. He'd have to drop out of one, try not to break his fucking neck in the process.

Dobbs' voice cut through the shadows again. "Oh, come on, you know you want to….." There was a pause. Then Dobbs came out with words that chilled him to the bone. "Did you know you're not the first cop I've stabbed today?"

Danny's head snapped round, wide eyes searching the darkness, heart thumping in his ears.

"That got your attention, right? I've had two of you already. Hey, you didn't think this blood was all mine…..did you? You should have heard that old cop squeal. And the guy from Five-0; he didn't know what hit him until it was too late. Oh, heeeeeeyyyy, you're Five-0 too, aren't you! Yeah, same badge. Maybe you knew him. About 6 foot, all muscles and tattoos. Mean anything to you, Danny-boy?"

Danny's first reaction was disbelief. Dobbs must know who he was, know all about Five-0, that was all. And he was using his knowledge to push Danny's buttons, to provoke him into a reaction, into playing his game, whatever the hell that was. But then again…

Danny's eyes widened and he began to breathe hard as his mind joined the dots. The blood. The blood on the man, the blood on Danny's car. And Dobbs was blatantly _not_ badly injured. Dobbs had been running when Danny had hit him, running from the direction of the café where Danny was due to meet Steve. It couldn't be, could it? Could it be a cop's blood? Could it be _Steve's_ blood?

He stood there, back flat to the wall, acid burning in his chest, bile rising in his throat, teetering at the top of an emotional cliff.

"Hey Danny! I stabbed him in the gut. He bled like a stuck pig." The horrific words, quiet but clear as a bell, were followed up with a callous laugh.

That was it. That was too much. Something inside Danny snapped. The suffocating fear that was now growing in his heart for his best friend bloomed into an all-encompassing fury. Danny's own burning pain, nausea and light-headedness became nothing, irrelevant, pushed aside as his adrenaline ramped up exponentially, pumping wildly around his veins.

"NO!" he roared. He pushed himself away from the wall, growling in frustration as he staggered, still weak, too weak for this. He smacked a furious fist against the brickwork then lurched on, heading straight for the source of the despicable words.

 **Yikes. OK, I might hide a bit now, but please tell me what you thought anyway...**


	12. Tribute 2: Game of Chance (chapter 5)

**OK...here goes. (hiding again)**

LIFE IS BUT A GAME OF CHANCE

CHAPTER 5

Danny ran headlong down the corridor on unsteady legs. He wobbled first into one wall, then the other, staying on his feet by means unknown.

Somewhere deep inside a little voice screamed at him, told him to _stop,_ to just get the hell out somehow. But, right then, that part of his mind was being over-ridden by the part that wanted _blood._ He had been pushed too far. He was trapped, his only obvious escape a drop that could kill him. And his tormentor claimed to have stabbed his best friend.

Danny was a cop through and through. He had to get the perp, he had to control him, to arrest him, no matter what the cost, whatever it took. And when the perp in question might have assaulted Steve, might have…no, he couldn't let even let himself contemplate how bad the injuries could have been, couldn't let himself think that Steve might be…..

He simply had to get him.

He had caught sight of Dobbs all too briefly as he rounded the corner from the corridor into the stairwell. He was well ahead of Danny, unsurprising given Danny's condition.

Running on adrenaline and fury, Danny fought his way to the end of the corridor, forced himself back into the black stairwell. He hesitated in the suffocating blackness, trying to listen past the noise of his pounding heart, his rushing blood.

A sudden creaking noise from down below drew his blind gaze towards unfamiliar territory. Dobbs had gone _down_ this time, down towards the basement.

Still seeing red, Danny threw all caution to the wind. He launched himself, thundered down the stairs, hand sliding along the wall to guide him. No _way_ was Dobbs getting away from him. The _bastard_ might well have something planned for him, but he was going to regret it!

He rounded a corner on the dark stairs, shaking hard as adrenaline coursed through his veins. He saw the dim light of a doorway below. The basement. He pushed on, determined to not to allow Dobbs to get too far ahead of him, not to give him time to hide, lie in wait. He could feel the rotten wood of each step flex slightly under his weight but he kept going. Dobbs had _just_ come this way. It had to be safe enough.

His thoughts were cut short as the wood beneath his step beneath him groaned then collapsed, splintering away wetly into nothing. He pitched forwards, instinctively reaching out with both hands to grab onto _nothing._ He _howled_ out in pain, he couldn't help it, as the movement tore at his stab wound, shards of reawakened white hot agony drilling through his shoulder.

The ground rushed up towards his face and he tried to twist, to roll when he landed. His head hit the concrete floor, _hard_. For long moments he saw nothing but stars. He lay on the cold concrete floor of the basement on his back, fighting to catch his breath, every part of his body screaming out in pain. He could feel hot, wet blood leaking out from beneath his makeshift pressure bandage and he raised a trembling hand to clutch at the injury.

The stabbing pains across his body cleared away the murk of the adrenaline rush. What the hell had he been doing? Really, what was he _thinking_? He had allowed Dobbs to get to him, had allowed him to affect his judgement. He wasn't thinking straight at all. It was _hard_ to think straight, in fact it was hard to concentrate full stop. That right there was another big pointer that he should _not_ have been trying to hunt Dobbs down. It was insane. Grace, he had _Gracie_ to think of. He should have kept trying to get the hell out of there, to get back up. To find out if Steve was OK. He _needed_ Steve to be OK.

Now he had monumentally fucked up. He couldn't seem to make himself move. He was almost _afraid_ to move. He would cry out in pain he was sure, then Dobbs would know where he was. Of course, crashing through the stairs might just have given him away already…

His head was spinning. _He needed help._

Dobbs voice drifted down to him from….somewhere.

"You didn't stand on the fourth step down did you?" he jeered. "Bad move, Danny! It was totally rotten!"

Danny didn't reply. He had to try to move. He was totally vulnerable lying in the open where he was. He _wanted_ to move and he thought he _was_ trying, but his limbs seemed too heavy, his muscles unresponsive.

Everything seemed so far away.

….

Steve glowered silently at the young cop in the driver's seat of the squad car before returning his gaze to the surrounding streets. They were cruising slowly to a pre-ordained route carefully calculated by Steve to maximize their coverage of the area surrounding the location where the police dog had lost the trail.

He had backed down, seen sense, when confronted by the three anxious members of his team. He _was_ struggling, _suffering_ , exhausted and in pain, mind alone numbed by the minimal amount of painkilling drugs he'd agreed to take. Leading the op was not sensible. Lou, the most experienced cop on their team, had taken the reins. But just because Steve had agreed to it didn't mean he had to like it.

The more time that passed, the more his fears grew. Danny was in serious trouble and they all knew it. Danny; infuriating and loud, bad-tempered and sarcastic…clever and big-hearted, endlessly loyal and completely and utterly irreplaceable. Steve gritted his teeth, unwilling to let his thoughts stray further down that dangerous, dangerous road. He had to keep it together and allowing himself to think about Danny and what the man meant to him….that was not the way to keep himself sane.

He glanced again at the rookie who'd got the short straw of driving the crazy injured guy around. Officer….Kapule? The man, young and nervous, was filling what would have been an awkward silence, if he'd cared enough to think about it, with inane babble. Steve had been zoning him out but now he listened, glad of the distraction. He quickly regretted it.

"I mean this is crazy, right, just about impossible? I mean we'd have found the cop by now if nothing had happened to him, right? I mean, it's awful because he's one of us, right? And we're a family, of course. But….well, when they find his body, can we go, can I get hands on? I mean, I've been to a murder already, but I was only guarding the crime scene, I didn't see much. I just want the experience, you know? I'd really appreciate it if you could put a word in, try to get me at the scene. I really want the chance to learn."

Steve gritted his teeth and carefully looked away again, because killing a rookie would take some explaining. He worked his jaw for long seconds, quietly supressing the urge to do serious damage. "How long you been in?" he managed eventually, voice strained.

"Two months." The rookie admitted, face coloring.

Steve nodded, still resolutely looking away. "Okay. I'll tell you one of the most important lessons you can learn in life, not just as a cop. Something that'll keep you out of trouble…Before you open your big mouth, _know your audience_."

Kapule looked confused. "Sir?"

"That cop you're talking about, if you'd listened properly at the briefing you would know he's Five-0. And he's my partner. He's..," he hesitated, always uncomfortable expressing his feelings, showing weakness. But still… "He's my best friend. So don't talk about him like he's a…a training opportunity, right? Just…just shut up and keep your eyes open."

Steve waited a few beats then shot a surreptitious glance at the younger man, just to make sure he'd been understood. The rookie was plainly mortified. He seemed to shrink down into the seat. It might have been funny in other circumstances. Steve looked away from him. He should probably say something supportive, something positive. Kapule's sentiments were totally normal and totally natural. Cops couldn't shy away from anything and had to be seen to _want_ to get involved with the worst of cases if they had any ambition whatsoever. The boy was keen. That was a good thing.

But Steve was so, so tired and so, so worried. He looked out of his window, once again entirely disinterested in the young cop beside him and focused entirely on looking for _anything_ that could help them find Danny.

They drove on in silence.

…

"DANNY! Come on you bastard! Come and get me! Hurry up for fuck's sake!"

Danny barely registered the voluminous taunt. He stared dimly up at the pinpricks of light high above him, wishing he was somewhere very, very far away. He had sat like that for…he had no idea how long, really, drifting along in a state of semi-consciousness, roused occasionally by jeering calls coming from far above him.

He had been stunned and badly shaken by his fall, but, after lying in the open for long minutes, he had managed to gather together the wherewithal to manoeuvre himself painfully back into the shadows. Now he sat, huddled in a corner between the wall and a random chunk of machinery, nursing his injuries.

But he hadn't been entirely idle. Once he had his back to that wall, he had taken in his surroundings in minute detail, trying to come up with a plan. He had failed, three factors combining to make his problems appear fundamentally insurmountable.

The first was obvious- his physical condition. He felt like utter shit. His shoulder was killing him and he felt like he was bruised black and blue from his tumble down the stairs. He was lucky he hadn't broken his neck. He'd done his best to adjust the pressure bandage, control the bleeding again. It was working. Sort of. The occasional trickle of blood still ran down his chest. He ignored it, barely even cared anymore. Perhaps not that surprising given how his mind had been dulled by the inescapable pain of injuries and the undeniable impact of blood loss.

No way could he outrun Dobbs even if he tried to move.

He knew exactly where Dobbs was; he could hear him, occasionally see his shadowy outline moving about erratically.

And right there was the next one of the big three factors. Dobbs was high on the scaffolding against the far wall of the building, his vantage point affording him a clear view not only of the basement but of the corridors built into the brick façade of the front wall, of the entrances. So there was literally no way Danny could move without being seen.

Not that breaking cover and running was even feasible anymore, because of the third factor.

The gun.

Danny's observations had given him a little more insight into the overall situation. He had a clear view into a dark corner of the work floor from his shadowy refuge. Tucked behind the rusted vestiges of a conveyor belt track, he could see a stained mattress, piles of clothes. A candle. Dobbs was squatting here, Danny had no doubt of that. No wonder the addict had come to this stinking, dark place. He knew the building inside out, knew he could run rings around Danny in here.

But Danny had spotted something on the mattress that had made his blood run cold, made him press further into his dark corner. It was a holster. An _empty_ holster. He couldn't help but conclude that there was a fine chance Dobbs had gone into his little lair to arm himself at some stage of the whole debacle. And if he had a gun, he could pick Danny off from that high vantage point if he so much as raised his head.

So Danny was stuck. Pinned down, nowhere to go. At Dobbs' mercy. Which begged the question; why was he still alive at all? Danny had tried to get his head around Dobbs' actions, his motivation. He could have killed Danny by now. If he really did have a gun, he could come and take him out any time he wanted to. What was he playing at?

Danny had no answers.

So he did the only thing he could. He sat, drifting along, barely awake. Waiting, and he didn't even quite know what he was waiting for.

His thoughts skipped endlessly of their own volition, seemingly running in hopeless circles whether he was conscious or not. His own situation and the apparent impossibility of escape, his beautiful baby girl, how he loved her, how he would do _anything_ right then to hold her. And the big one, the thoughts he was trying but failing to suppress. The endless speculation that held him in a vice-like grip, a constant undercurrent of dread deep down in the pit of his stomach. Steve. What had really happened to Steve? What had that _bastard_ done to his best friend when Danny wasn't there, wasn't watching his back and why…? Because he was too worried about his _fucking phone._

 _Please let him be okay, please let him be okay._ The mantra repeated unendingly in the back of his mind, the simplest manifestation of his darkest fears.

Time passed like that, in a blur of pain and images and fears and regrets.

But then something seeped through into Danny's consciousness. Something was different, something had changed. He blinked, switching his focus to his surroundings for the first time in what felt like eons. He listened intently, then frowned in confusion as he realized what it was.

Silence. No erratic movements, no jeering calls.

He closed his eyes, took a couple of deep breaths to steady his nerves. Grimacing, he sat forwards minutely, slowly, carefully, trying not to make a sound. He muttered a quick prayer, then raised his head to peer around the edge of his machine, half expecting instant oblivion from a bullet to the brain. Nothing happened. He looked up at the scaffolding and gasped at what he saw.

Dobbs was sitting on the high wooden platform, back to the wall. Danny could see his upper body, one sneakered foot sticking out over the edge of the wood. And he could see his posture and his repetitive, self-comforting movements. He was hunched over, rocking himself back and forth rapidly. The foot was shaking uncontrollably. He was _rattling._ Hurting bad, craving his fix of heroin.

Danny sat back again, closed his eyes, suddenly entirely focused, suddenly feeling _hope._

All of a sudden the game had changed. Danny was injured, ridiculously weak and only weakening further as time ticked on, he _knew_ that. But now _Dobbs_ was effectively sick too, crippled by his addiction. And he too would only get worse….

Maybe, just maybe, Danny really did have a chance of taking him on and winning.

 **Nervously awaits reviews... (please).**


	13. Tribute 2: Game of Chance (chapter 6)

**Loving the reviews! You're all sooooo wonderful :)**

 ***Takes deep breath*. Okay, I ALMOST chickened out of posting this tonight. Instead, this chapter (which is another oversized monster) is coming with a couple of health warnings...**

 **1\. If you've had enough of the whump already, you're NOT going to like it. Skip it. Really. I really, really mean it. Go straight to ch7. Errr. OK, 8.**

 **2\. (spoiler!) Descriptions of drug use lie ahead.**

 **Remember, I LOVE Danny and Steve. Okay? I'm just a bit sick and twisted in the head. AND I've squeezed a bit of the original plot from 'The Bill' in at the end of this chapter too, in the spirit of the tribute concept...so it's not all my fault. Honest.**

 **Much tinkering has happened here post beta, IC can take no blame for anything whatsoever as always.**

 **OK, here goes...**

LIFE IS BUT A GAME OF CHANCE

CHAPTER 6

"Steve, we've got a witness."

Lou's deep voice sounded far from elated, but Steve clung on to his words anyway, the first hint of positive news he'd heard since the search started. Steve had been slumped low in the passenger seat, jaw set grimly, eyes only open through sheer pig-headedness, as they drove slowly through an industrial area. Now he sat up straight, gripped his phone tight, pressed it close to his ear. "Tell me."

"OK. The lady works for Kaiwi Cleaners. She was working in an office two blocks south of the point where that dog lost the trail. She happened to glance out the window, saw two men running along the back of the building. She's positively identified them as Dobbs and Danny. Now we know for sure that Danny really did go after him."

Steve blinked a few times. "That's it?! Okay,…did she see where they went?"

"They were still heading south. We've shifted the emphasis of the search further south, as far as the docks, the industrial zone. Steve, we're on it, okay? I just wanted to keep you in the loop. How you holding up?"

Steve ignored the question. He pinched his nose between his fingers, eyes screwed shut, trying to think. "I'm wondering if Dobbs was just running to try to get away, or if he was heading somewhere specific, drawing Danny somewhere on purpose…We know he doesn't have a home address, but he must have a bolt hole, somewhere he sleeps. Did HPD have any luck with his friends, his family?"

"No is the easy answer to that. He really didn't have many connections and none of them were very forthcoming about where he might be living. I get the impression people keep their distance. It's not surprising, he sounds seriously unstable."

Lou's last words hung between them for a moment.

Steve shook it off. "So we should be looking for squats, derelict buildings, that kind of thing. I want every last one searched, Lou. I don't care if we tear up the whole fucking city."

"We're on it, Steve. We're already targeting that type of building, anywhere that Dobbs could have gone to ground….Kono's got Facial Rec working overtime on every CCTV feed we can find on that side of the city. We'll find 'em. Stay positive yeah? We're doing everything we can."

"Yeah. I know." Steve huffed out with a sigh. "Lou…did your witness say how Danny looked?"

Lou chuckled dryly. "Yeah! She said he looked seriously pissed."

Steve snorted. Sounded about right. He uttered a cursory farewell and hung up. So they might have the situation and the direction of travel confirmed, but there were so many paths that could have been taken after they were seen, so many possible destinations. They needed a real break. They needed it soon. He looked at his watch. 5 hours since he and Duke were stabbed. Danny had been alone with Dobbs nearly 5 hours. What the hell had happened?

Steve was exhausted so he didn't quite manage to push back the entirely speculative image of Danny's body, twisted, broken and bloody, before it solidified in his mind's eye. It impacted on him like a punch in the gut. He blinked, way too hot all of a sudden. Everything seemed a bit out of focus, _wrong._ He started to feel sick. _Very_ sick. He might actually _be_ sick. No, he _was_ going to be sick.

"Stop the car!" he managed to choke out, fighting against the rising bile.

Kapule pulled over to the kerb abruptly, screeching to a halt outside of some sort of factory. Steve threw the door open, swung his long legs out and bent over, heaving miserably into the gutter.

He stayed like that, bent over his knees, waves of nausea and renewed pain washing over him. He coughed, then choked on the lump that rose in his throat because he felt so completely and utterly useless and because he was just so damn terrified for Danny. What on earth was he going to say to Gracie if they didn't find him? Or if they found him and Dobbs had killed him with that fucking knife, stuck it in his body like he was nothing, like he didn't mean anything to anyone?

They had nothing new of any significance and there was just so much ground to cover. Steve wanted to be in the thick of it, wanted to be searching every building, not sitting at the side of the road with his head in his hands.

He felt truly unwell; weak, sore and shaky. He looked up, absently watching the comings and goings in the factory car park in front of him, vehicles and workers wandering to and fro as though it was a day like any other day.

He actually didn't know if he could go on.

….

It had become a war of attrition, Danny realized.

He just needed to wait Dobbs out, wait until he was hurting so badly that Danny might stand a chance of taking him. Hurting so badly that he gave up and lay down, so that Danny might be able to move around without the risk of having his head blasted off.

But Danny was hurting too. Nothing had changed, he hadn't miraculously gotten better. He'd been stabbed, he'd bled. He'd bled _too much._ He'd fallen, knocked himself to hell. He was weak, he was shaky. He felt faint and cold and his limbs were unaccountably heavy. He seemed short of breath now, for all he was doing _nothing._ He knew what it meant. Loss of fluids, low blood pressure…shock. He knew it, he knew all about it, he had seen it affecting people, _killing_ people, too many times in his years as a cop. He knew he would only have so much time before his organs were affected, before they started to shut down. If they hadn't already. Things were only going to get worse. It was still hard to think, too, but re-awakened hope and the promise of action had helped him, sharpened his thoughts just enough. He hoped.

So who would be the last man standing?

Danny had a plan, should it be him. Once Dobbs was down, Danny could move around unseen. Assuming he could move, of course.

He needed a weapon. There was a length of iron pipe lying on the ground a short distance away. That would do.

He needed something to restrain Dobbs with, his duct tape having been abandoned in a pool of his own blood two floors up. The solution had taken some thought. His eyes had traced lengths of old cable, but none looked short enough to be practical. He had nothing to cut them to size with. Nothing to get them down off the wall with, for that matter.

Then his eyes had been drawn back to Dobbs' 'bedroom'. His clothes. There was a hooded sweatshirt crumpled beside the filthy mattress and he blinked in belated realization when he saw the drawstring of the hood. That could work! Which also meant that could have worked the first time he took on Dobbs...maybe all this could have been avoided if he'd using his brain and pulled the cord out of the clothes the junkie had been wearing instead of leaving him lying alone.

He grimaced at the thought, furious with himself, but he shook it off. If he got lucky, there would be time for torturing himself with hindsight once he was home free.

So he had his weapon, his restraints. Then he would have to climb the scaffolding. Danny counted the stack of disturbingly rickety-looking wooden platforms. Dobbs was 1..2..3..4 platforms high on the scaffolding, one from the top. A single vertical metal ladder, rusted of course, with several rungs missing, ran top to bottom, the one way up and down. Danny could do that from a psychological point of view anyway. Heights were fine, heights were _not_ a problem. But physically…..he simply didn't know if he could manage. But he would try.

Steve always accused of him of being stubborn. Rachel too, with a bit more aggression behind her words. It was true, he couldn't argue with that. But sometimes his attitude worked to his advantage.

So, weapon, restraints, scaffolding- check. The next steps were; sneak up on Dobbs, overpower him. Tie him up, get the door keys. Get away, skip merrily out the door to safety.

Yep. Easy. Piece of cake.

Danny knew it was crazy, really. No way should he even attempt it in his condition. But the alternative was dropping out of a third floor window. Crazy or not, the plan that involved an actual ladder was preferable. And the opportunity to _try_ was going to come, Danny knew it. He was damned if he was going down without a fight, never even knowing why, and never knowing what Dobbs had done to Steve.

…..

Dobbs burned and he sweated, then ice ran through his veins. His stomach bucked and twisted in protest and he gagged.

He had made a mistake, he knew that now. He hadn't really had anything specific in mind for the blond cop when he led him here, hadn't really planned at all- that was half the problem. His bloodlust had been up, that was all, plus he was pissed at being run over. He'd been handed an opportunity for a proper go at a cop and that was hard to turn away from. But the guy had been tough, fought back when Dobbs thought he was done, hit him with that fucking wood. It had been a stupid mistake, sloppy. He should have pinned the guy's arms with his knees while he was working with the knife. He would _never_ have made that mistake in the old days.

Once his head had cleared, Dobbs was _really_ pissed. And he'd got carried away, he could admit that now. He should have gone straight back in for the kill- it would have been easy. He'd retrieved his gun once he'd come round- finishing the cop could have been so, so simple. Bullet between the eyes, knife in the throat, whatever.

But he had wanted more, because he'd been so angry. He wanted to hear the cop beg, he wanted to see pure unadulterated fear in his eyes. So he'd come up with an off-the-cuff plan. Trap the guy, piss him off, get him fired up. Climb up the scaffolding, wait for the idiot to come after him. Overpower him then hang him over the edge until he cried like a little girl. Then… simply let go. Watch the helpless terror grow on the self-righteous cop face as he fell. It would have been so, so good.

He realized now he had been stupid. He should have stayed focused, he should have just finished the job then had his fix. He'd left it too long and now he was suffering for it.

But he thought he would be OK, he _should_ be OK. The cop was injured- that stab wound had been deep, painful and bloody. And the stupid pig bastard had barely moved since he fell down the staircase more than an hour earlier. Unbelievable that that dodgy step had disintegrated beneath him. Unlucky. It would have been downright funny if it hadn't totally fucked up Dobbs' plan, in fact.

Chances were he'd broken something. He might well even be dead by now, bleeding out quietly in the corner all alone. Either way he shouldn't be a threat.

He should climb back down the scaffolding, finish him for sure. But he couldn't. He was hurting too much. Only one thing mattered now. Dobbs' thoughts turned to the score bags in his jeans, the merchandise for the aborted deal. It wasn't his. But he wanted it.

…

"Fuck it." Dobbs' whispered words echoed around the building, jerking Danny back to full awareness.

Danny heard a faint metallic noise. Bracing himself, he dared to lean forwards to look.

Dobbs had shuffled forwards. He now sat on the very edge of the high platform, his legs hanging down over the side, seemingly entirely unconcerned by the drop. He was examining something in his hand intently. Danny saw the glint of metal and almost ducked back, automatically thinking _gun._ He stopped, squinting. Not a gun. It was a cigarette tin.

Danny watched as Dobbs opened the lid. He seemed hesitant, indecisive, opening and closing the tin box over and over again. Then Danny heard him moan out loud, a visible shiver running through his body. He bent over double, grabbing his gut.

The box was opened again, and this time the lid was thrown to one side. Danny hardly dared to hope that that might mean what he thought it did. He waited, scarcely daring to breathe, praying that he was right.

Danny _was_ right. Out of the box came a tea spoon, a lighter and a syringe. Dobbs laid them carefully out on the wood beside him, then dug into the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a score bag of heroin. Danny watched from the shadows, mesmerised and entirely disbelieving at his change in fortune. He watched as Dobbs so, so carefully pour every last grain of brown powder into the spoon, watched as he held a lighter beneath it. Watched as he filled the syringe from the spoon.

Danny almost laughed out loud. Dobbs was actually going to take his hit.

Having spent most of his adult life as a cop, Danny was more than familiar with the immediate effects of heroin use. Dobbs would be out of it, entirely vulnerable, as he rode his initial euphoric high. How long would Danny have? It was impossible to say- it would depend on a pile of factors; Dobbs' tolerance, on how long he'd been using, his body-weight, his metabolism, the size of the dose, on the quality of the heroin. Worst case scenario about a few minutes before the most intense effects began to fade. Best case- an hour. Maybe more.

Danny would just have to go for it, move fast, take a chance. He began to flex his limbs as he watched, grimacing in pain, preparing himself as best he could so he could seize the opportunity when it came.

Dobbs rolled up his sleeve. Then he did it, he actually did it! He injected himself, took the hit! He slumped back, syringe falling from his hand, bouncing off the scaffolding, bouncing off the concrete floor beneath.

A flair of triumph coursing through him, Danny grabbed his chance with both hands. Heaving himself to his feet, one steadying hand on the machine beside him, he hobbled, wavering drunkenly, over to Dobbs' filthy mattress. Fingers trembling, he yanked the cord out of the hoodie, stuffed it in his pocket. Next on the list was the metal pipe. He picked it up, tucked it in the back of his pants.

He hesitated, looking up. He could only see Dobbs' legs now, hanging limply over the side of the scaffolding far above him.

It was now or never. Resolute, he staggered to the ladder. He glanced up, regretting it instantly as he might as well be looking up to the top of Mount Everest. He leant his head against the cold metal of the ladder, squeezing his eyes shut. He puffed out a breath and started to climb.

He knew it would be hard going. How could it not be hard going, pulling yourself up four storeys worth of rusty ladder with a gaping hole in your shoulder while your body was in the process of shutting itself down? But it actually felt like he was in hell. He was nauseatingly dizzy, head burning hot but somehow limbs so numb with cold he could barely feel his fingers. Every wrong move sent shockwaves of agony pulsing around his body, forcing him to stop, shut his eyes and press his forehead into the cool metal rungs, praying he wouldn't fall.

It seemed to take _forever._ He shook from head to foot with the effort, sweat running freely down his body, his face. It went in his eyes, stung them, but he couldn't even wipe it away. He was too busy hanging on for grim death with his good side, too busy trying _not_ to hang on with his bad side. And not looking down, _never_ looking down.

One rung at a time, Danny pushed on.

He was taking too long, he _knew_ he was. By the time he got to Dobbs' platform his heart was in his mouth. Dobbs' legs, hanging over the edge of that platform, hadn't so much as twitched, but Danny knew he couldn't have much longer, no way could he get that lucky.

Trying to be so, so quiet, trying not pant as hard as he needed to, he peered over the edge of the wooden platform. He exhaled in relief. Dobbs was still out of it. He was lying on his back, head lolling over in Danny's direction, eyes closed and jaw slack, a peaceful expression of bliss on his face.

Danny pushed himself up the last few steps and stepped off onto the platform.

His shoulder was bleeding steadily again now, dribbling down his chest, and his body trembled violently with the sheer effort of staying on his feet. He felt detached, as though he was watching himself from a great distance, as though it was someone else clambering around like an idiot on the rusty old scaffolding. It was a disturbing feeling but it kind of helped in a weird way. He didn't stop, didn't hesitate. The platform seemed to shake but he was pretty sure it was an illusion, pretty sure it was just his own legs shaking really. He blanked it out, he had enough to worry about.

Breathing hard through his nose, trying to move _silently,_ Danny approached Dobbs, supporting himself with a hand against the wall behind the scaffolding. He drew his metal pipe, held it out in front of him in an unsteady hand, ready as he could be to fight. His stomach tied itself in knots as he got closer and closer, heart in his mouth. He was half-convinced the man was faking it, that he would spring up at the last second and shove Danny straight off the side of the scaffolding.

Dobbs' weapons were lying a couple of feet away from the man, within his reach.

Danny went for it, there was simply nothing else he could do. He took the last few steps, laid down the pipe, grabbed the gun, the knife. He held the gun on Dobbs, hands shaking, not allowing himself a moment of triumph because it sure as hell wasn't over yet. He needed the keys. But then he stared for a moment, looking at the blood on Dobbs' front. Steve's blood? His mind stuttered. And how easy it would be to pull the trigger. How easy and how justified? But no, not that, never again. He shuttered the thought out, blanked out the blood, thinking tactics, pure tactics.

He reached out and nudging Dobbs' leg with his foot. Nothing.

Danny stuck Dobbs' weapons down the waistband of his pants and pulled out his length of cord. He would have to turn Dobbs over to secure him. No way was it safe to tie his hands to the front. That wouldn't stop him fighting, striking, pushing. But where were the keys to the doors? If they were accessible it might be easier to take them and just go, not risk rousing Dobbs by moving him.

Very, very cautiously, sweat dripping down his nose, Danny patted down the Dobbs' pockets, his numb fingers clumsy and tremulous. Nothing. If they were on him ( _please, please let them be on him_ ), they had to be in the back pocket of his jeans.

He _had_ to turn Dobbs over.

He didn't get the chance to try.

Dobbs came round like he'd been shot with adrenaline. He twisted, rolling up onto his knees, but then lurched drunkenly, eyes vague and unfocused.

Danny didn't even give him a chance to recover any more than he already had. He was out of strength, digging into reserves he didn't know existed, but he channeled absolutely everything he had left into one almighty uppercut. Still on his knees, he swung up, fist smashing satisfyingly into Dobbs' jaw.

The man went down, out cold, now flat on his face at the back of the platform.

Danny sagged down, half on top of him. He was so utterly done, each labored breath now coming out as a pained gasp. He should have felt some sort of triumph, should have felt some level of relief, but he was just wiped out, physically and mentally. Grunting with the effort, swaying on his knees, he felt in the back pockets of Dobbs' jeans. He could have cried in relief. The keys were actually there! He pulled them out, holding them up to look at them as if they were the Holy Grail.

He stuffed them in his own pocket, then looked around for his length of cord, determined to finish the job, prevent Dobbs from coming after him. Dobbs' thrashing had sent it a little way further along the platform. It was a few feet away, dangling down off the edge, swinging slightly. At least it hadn't fallen off altogether.

Danny stared at it. But he had pushed himself _so_ far beyond what his body was actually capable of. His vision was suddenly horribly blurred, starting to fade at the edges.

 _Not yet, not yet!_ he thought desperately. Breaths coming in short gasps, he pushed up onto his hands and knees and began to crawl towards the cord. He reached for it, shaking all over, suddenly wishing he wasn't so close to the edge because the building seemed to be spinning and pitching around, making him fear that he would just lose his balance and fall and, oh boy, were they high up.

He heard a noise behind him and turned his head abruptly, heart in his mouth. He blinked, trying to focus. Dobbs was still out. Danny sighed in relief, head hanging weakly down between his shoulders. Then there was another noise. A stomach-turning groan, the sound of fatigued metal under stress. The scaffolding!

"No, no, no!" Danny squeaked. He had to get down! _They_ had to get down. He hated himself for it, he knew he couldn't just leave Dobbs, not now. How could he possibly get him down?

But Danny had no more time to think. The whole platform shook, then, with a shriek of metal against stone, sagged sideways, sending a flock of pigeons that had been roosting in the rafters above them flapping up in a panic.

It stopped abruptly with a jerk, catching on _something, t_ he whole metal frame bounced to a rest at a precarious angle. With a startled shout, Danny pitched forwards over the edge of the platform. He scrabbled desperately for a handhold, managing to wrap his arms around a metal upright as he fell, stopping his headlong dive. His momentum swung him right round, his body pitching over the edge, legs swinging in midair, reaching in vain for a foothold.

He gasped in panic. He was hanging, helpless. His injured shoulder screamed in pain, utterly useless. He simply didn't have the strength to pull himself up with his one good arm. He was already so weak, he knew he wouldn't be able to hold on at all for long.

But then Dobbs was there, kneeling right in front of him, materializing as if from nowhere, rancid breath puffing in his face.

Danny looked up at him, his face a silent plea. Dobbs' eyes were still vague but now more aware, more focused. The addict had one hand clamped tightly onto a metal upright. He reached down with the other, running his fingers gently down Danny's back. For a surreal moment, Danny thought he was going to grab the waist of his pants, pull him up. Then he realized what he was actually doing.

He was retrieving the weapons Danny had taken from him.

Dobbs straightened up. He held up the knife for Danny to see, turning it round slowly right in front of Danny's eyes. Danny looked at it, then looked up into Dobbs' eyes and saw the coldness, the hate, re-solidifying as the man steadily recovered his faculties. Dobbs smiled mirthlessly.

Danny shook his head, frantic, utterly terrified. There was absolutely nothing he could do, he was entirely helpless, unable to even raise a hand to try to defend himself lest he lose his tenuous grip on the scaffolding. He watched as the knife was drawn back. Watched as it thrust towards him. His eyes opened wide and he cried out, ragged and desperate, as the white hot pain of the stabbing blade sliced into his forearms, one twice, three times. Dobbs' one aim was clear- he simply wanted Danny to let go.

Danny looked up through tear-streaked vision and saw Dobbs' wild eyes, his bared teeth, saw his own blood on the blade, on the boards of the scaffolding. The world seemed to get darker, further away, the sounds around him more muffled.

His grip began to slip.

With Dobbs' animalistic shout of triumph ringing in his ears, Danny fell towards the concrete work floor four storeys below.

 **I did say, I did warn you, you can't say I didn't..! I just can't stop the whump coming out, it's a sickness, an obsession. I am seriously taking cover now. The story's almost done, really, the end is in sight.**

 **But... so many apologies, I'm away on a new pet procuring trip tomorrow (Collecting a rescue dog. He's a whole day's travel away but he's gorgeous enough to be worth it!) so won't be posting again till the weekend...If this chapter hasn't put everyone off anyway, of course.**

 **Meantime...please review ! (I think...)**


	14. Tribute 2: Game of Chance (chapter 7)

**Oops, apologies, had every intention of posting last night but I slightly fell asleep on the sofa instead...the perils of travelling with small children and not-yet-trained dogs... :) Dog is lovely. Epic journey though- no car for technical reasons, so instead...one plane, two buses, THREE ferries and a couple of friend's cars. Work that out if you can... Like I said- it's a cute dog.**

 **Anyhoo, back to business! Thank you all so much for the reviews. Make me smile, make me happy, make it worth all the effort!**

LIFE IS BUT A GAME OF CHANCE

CHAPTER 7

"DANNY! DANNY!" Steve yelled. He could see his partner in the distance, but he wasn't going to get there in time, he was too far away! Dobbs had Danny by the throat. Light glinted off the lethal blade as the bastard stuck it in Danny's body over and over but Steve just couldn't seem to get any closer. His legs weren't working properly! He was too tired, too sick and now Danny…..Danny had gone limp, his face white, his mouth slack and the blood….there was so much blood….

"NOOO! DANNY!" Steve screamed out, desperate.

"Commander? Are you okay?"

Officer Kapule's hesitant voice cut into Steve's subconscious. Steve's eyes snapped open. He was panting, rivulets of sweat running down his face. He looked around in total confusion. He was still in the car, Kapule by his side, the landscape of industrial Honolulu drifting by slowly.

Dreaming, had he been dreaming? Had he actually fallen asleep? The guilt that hit him hurt worse than Dobbs' knife had.

Trying to cover his distress, he turned to glare at Kapule as though it was his fault Steve couldn't seem to stay awake. He was okay, he was sure he was okay. His blood pressure had to be too low, something like that. That could explain the nausea, the light-headedness. He needed to rest, take on fluids. Take some painkillers. Sleep. _Really_ sleep.

He opened his mouth to speak, to say he was fine. Then the squad car hit a pothole and white hot pain erupted in his gut, radiating outwards to every part of his body. He squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head away so Kapule wouldn't see his suffering.

When he had re-composed himself somewhat he glanced at the young cop. At least someone was alert. Kapule's eyes were everywhere, between the surreptitious looks that periodically came his way.

No sooner had that thought crossed Steve's meandering mind, than the young officer's gaze fixed on something. "Did you see that?"

"What?" Steve turned his head, following Kapule's line of sight.

"Probably nothing," said Kapule, eyes still fixed on the same spot. He checked his mirrors rapidly, then pulled into the side of the road. He pointed ahead, at the roof of a warehouse just visible in the distance amongst the industrial buildings they had been driving around. "A bunch of pigeons just came up through the hole in that roof. Kind of like something had startled them. Should we check it out?"

Just like that, Steve's laser focus came back online.

….

Danny lay, limp and unmoving. He was on his side, back to the wall, having dragged his all but useless body as far away from the edge of the platform as he possibly could, into the depths of the shadows.

He had no concept of how far he'd fallen. But he was alive. Just.

He didn't really know why he wasn't dead, he didn't know how he had managed to stop his fall. His memories of what had happened were a horrible, terrifying, painfilled blur. But somehow he had survived. He had reached out in desperation, caught hold of _something_ , some part of the scaffolding he supposed. He managed to slow his descent just above a lower platform, got a leg out in the right direction at the right moment and dropped bodily onto it. It had been far from graceful. Certainly not deliberate; a sprawling, fortuitous movement.

His muscles quivered as though he had run a marathon. He was bleeding from wounds old and new. He could feel his strength ebbing with every beat of his heart. The pain was intense and the need to cry out overwhelming. He tried to control it, sucking in great lungfuls of air in silence, but somehow he just couldn't seem to get enough. The pain, the dizziness built and built. He felt numb, his limbs cold and heavy.

He heard a creak. Dobbs was nearby. He was moving around the wrecked scaffolding, searching. Danny would be found. There was nothing he could do, no fight left in him. He could only press himself back, huddled miserably in the shadows, and pray. One white hand lay limp just in front of him, dominating his vision. He watched dimly as blood ran steadily from a nick on his thumb down to his wrist before dripping down onto the wood, joining a dark, growing pool beneath him.

He listened intently for the smallest sound, but now he heard none. There was silence. A calculated silence. Dobbs was close, listening too. Danny could sense the predatory presence.

Another creak. Closer. Danny screwed his eyes shut, then changed his mind, opened them wide. He moved his eyes, looked beyond his hand. He saw a silhouetted figure up near the ladder. Dobbs was on his platform.

….

The instant Kapule pulled up outside the security gate, Steve was out of the car. His legs shook beneath him in protest but he blanked them out, refusing point-blank to allow his own body to beat him.

His eyes darted round, took everything in. 'Haikani Fish Processing'. He was aware of the building. It had certainly been out of use for his lifetime, probably his father's lifetime too. There was of sign of life, no sounds of movement. What had startled the birds? It could have been anything. A stray cat. Maybe nothing at all.

His gaze came to rest on the gate in front of him. His breath caught in his throat. Blood! A smear of blood! His heart began to beat faster.

"This is it. Kapule?! This is it! Get on the radio. Call my team, call HPD, get them here. I'm going in."

…

Dobbs was coming closer, moving silently. Cat-like.

Danny's gulping breaths quickened. An entirely new type of fear rose up, black and cold. He was out of options. He was going to die. He tried to control his breathing, biting his lip so hard his dry mouth filled with the metallic tang of his own blood.

A vicious wave of pain tore through him and he slid his hand towards his mouth, tried to gag himself, feeling the hot tears of pain beneath his palm. His hand felt cold. He was as far back in the shadows as he could possibly be, but all Dobbs had to do was look his way and it would be over.

He watched the figure move slowly towards him. His eyes shifted, watched his own blood pooling in front of him. A tiny red droplet rolled slowly away from him then disappeared down the gap between two wooden boards. It was followed by another. Then another. Danny's eyes widened. He was sure, so sure he could hear the dull splatter of the liquid hitting the wood below. He was so sure Dobbs would hear it too.

Dobbs was right there. Right in front of him. If he turned and looked into the shadows behind him, he would see him. But he was facing away, looking down over the edge of the scaffolding. He had to think Danny had fallen further.

Dobbs crouched down, seemingly focused on something below them.

Danny felt unashamedly terrified. His body had betrayed him, had taken too much punishment. He couldn't take Dobbs on. Somehow, he was still alive, although it wouldn't be long before he succumbed to blood-loss and shock. If he was seen he would die, it was as simple as that. He would never find out the truth about Steve and the other cop. He would never see _Grace_ again. Shivers wracked his body and he prayed the man couldn't feel the vibrations through his feet.

…

Dobbs frowned in annoyance. The stupid cop had seriously bad timing. Dobbs wanted to lie down, mellow out after his hit, not climb around fucking half-collapsed scaffolding. But he had to be sure. He had got a real buzz from seeing the cop drop, but had to know the stubborn bastard was actually done this time. Dobbs hadn't leant over the edge to watch as he'd dropped. He'd shut his eyes when the shocked face dropped out of sight, waiting for the wet thud as the body hit the concrete. It hadn't come, he hadn't heard it, but given he was still riding the back end of his high at the time it maybe wasn't too surprising.

He made his way down the unstable structure cautiously, hoping whatever it had stuck on would hold, that it wouldn't all come tumbling down before he could get off, get clear.

Then he heard it. Footsteps. There was someone else in the building. Cops? _Shit._

He crouched, silent, watching from his vantage point. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the dark-haired figure as he began to make his way to and fro along the corridors at the front of the building. How had he got in? He must have picked a lock.

But then Dobbs smiled in sudden realization. The man was alone. And the way he was moving- he was weak. Injured? It was the man he had fought earlier! He was being handed a chance to finish the job he had started!

If the first one had died, that would be three for three. That was more like the old days. That was the way it _should_ be.

He traced the man's path, waited patiently until he headed down to the basement. The man strode on to the middle of the work floor, the flashlight beam working around amongst the machines.

Dobbs crouched down, silent and cat-like. He drew his gun, took aim and squeezed the trigger.

 **Yeah, you know how I said the whump was over by ch8? I've re-drafted (again) since then and made myself a big fat liar...I just can't stop myself fiddling with the damn stories till the bitter end.**

 **Anyhoo, let me know what you thought...**


	15. Tribute 2: Game of Chance (chapter 8)

**OK, this first section is a last minute alteration, a gift for another (FAR more talented) writer who had a craving for some pretty specific whumping. You know who you are….and you know what you owe me in return. Quid pro quo!**

 **Yeah, gone a bit all out on the whump this tribute. It's a total stress-beater for me and it's been a really, really stressful month! However, all things have to come to an end…**

CHAPTER 8

The longer Steve spent searching the building, the greater the feeling of dread within him, the tighter the knot of fear in his stomach.

Constantly fighting his own physical weakness, he searched quietly and methodically for all he was silently panicking inside. He had found little so far, but what he had found shocked him to the core. Blood. Blood on the upstairs landing, more further along the same corridor, a roll of duct tape and part of a torn shirt beside it. It was Danny's shirt, he was sure it was. They were here- Danny and Dobbs were here. And one of them was hurt. He knew it was Danny. If it had been Dobbs, this whole nightmare would be over already.

He'd followed the traces of what had to be Danny's movements- occasional bloody fingerprints that showed where he'd supported himself against the wall, spots of blood on the floor. He negotiated the fragmentary staircase to the basement with considerable difficulty, heart pounding as he took in the recent collapse. He half expected to find Danny at the bottom of the stairs, motionless and broken. He found yet more blood, but no Danny.

He listened intently, suppressing the urge to call out Danny's name. He heard the distant whistle of the wind, the wet drip-drip of water, the periodic groaning of metal under stress. A tell of the instability of the building. A chill ran down his spine.

He entered the basement and turned slowly on the spot, the beam from the flashlight on the sights of his weapon sweeping steadily across the rusted hulks of the industrial equipment, casting shadows which seemed to dance across the dark interior of the building. He took in the collapsed floors above him, the ruined scaffolding, leaning sideways at a dizzying angle.

He felt like he was being watched.

Another bout of light-headedness threatened to bring him to his knees and he staggered sideways, aiming for the closest immovable object, a concrete mount for an old diesel generator, something like that. He leaned against it heavily, head bowed, breathing carefully controlled.

He raised his head again, playing the flashlight in the other direction. He spotted the mattress. He pushed himself up, took a few steps towards it. So this was where Dobbs lived. This was his territory. He saw the empty holster. _Shit._

A faint noise behind him, up high amongst the ruined scaffolding, made him turn his head sharply, raise his weapon. He ducked down, scanning for the source of the noise even as he moved back towards the cover of his concrete generator mount.

He didn't quite make it.

He barely registered the sharp retort of a handgun before the impact spun him around. He cried out, his legs going out from under him. It might have been dark before, but now everything seemed to go black, a million lights flashing inside his head.

He didn't feel the pain for a few seconds, didn't even know where he'd been hit. Then it punched in, sharp and unforgiving. The bulllet had impacted in his shoulder, the center of the pulsating agony lying just off the edge of his vest. His shoulder, just his shoulder, he told himself, deal with it, blank it out! But the almost incomprehensible pain and the feeling that something was fundamentally _wrong_ told him it was more than just a flesh wound.

Sucking in pained, gulping breaths, he grasped at it, everything else momentarily going out of his mind. With shaking fingers he traced the injury, half expecting to feel the unstoppable rhythmic spray of an arterial bleed. That wasn't what he found. The wound was bleeding but not badly, considering. But he felt something else, something that magnified his pre-existing nausea ten-fold. Something sharp. A splinter of bone? His collar bone- he was touching part of his own collar bone. His stomach heaved.

He had to block it out, had to move, get to cover! He could see again now, see the dark space around him, but it moved, pulsating in time with his heart. He looked dimly over to the concrete block, so near and yet so very far away. He tried to get up, to get his feet under him, but the co-ordination was just not quite there and he sagged back to the ground.

He heard something. A metallic 'click'. Dobbs had cocked his gun again. Steve was a sitting duck.

….

Danny jumped when the gun went off so close to him, sure for a moment he would feel the searing impact of a bullet. It didn't come, but instead he heard something that hurt even more. A strangled, agonised cry from far below. Even in the state he was in he knew who it was. It was Steve! Dobbs had shot Steve! Dobbs _hadn't_ killed him earlier and Steve had come galloping to Danny's rescue. But now….Danny felt tears well up in his eyes, tears of frustration, of fear. He wanted to do something, to open his mouth, to shout to Steve, to yell at Dobbs. He wanted to leap up and grab Dobbs, punch his stupid face into oblivion.

Dobbs was so, so close to him. Danny tried to move, tried to see what parts of his body might work. His legs. He could bend his legs. He didn't think he could get up, but he might be able to push his body towards Dobbs. And then…what? His arms seemed as good as useless, cold and numb but for the fiery points of heat where the blade had met his skin.

Then Dobbs cocked his weapon. He was going to shoot Steve again, pick him off when he'd already been hit once.

Complete and utter desperation came over Danny. He couldn't let this happen, couldn't let Dobbs take the shot! He had to what little he could, he had to try to stop him. He could at least provide a distraction, warn Steve, give him a chance to get to cover if he was able. Dobbs would finish Danny but it might just save Steve.

Uttering a garbled shout, he pushed with his feet, hard as he could.

He got further than he expected.

Dobbs, still crouched at the edge of the platform, turned in shock in time to see Danny's body flop towards him, his full body weight striking him low. He overbalanced, putting a hand out to catch himself. The hand hit nothing, empty air. With a startled cry, Dobbs toppled forwards off the platform. He swung out an arm, grabbing wildly behind him.

He caught hold of Danny's ankle.

Danny cried out in pain as Dobbs, clinging desperately, swung to and fro, trying to catch hold of something, anything. Danny slid towards the edge of the platform, grasping desperately for a handhold with hands that might as well have belonged to someone else, Dobb's jerking weight dragging him ever closer to the drop.

Danny's nails dug into the soft surface of the old wood, carving claw marks as he slid. He stopped suddenly, the blood-slicked fingers of one hand having dropped down between two planks of wood. He couldn't hold on for long, there was no hope of that, he couldn't hold up his own weight let alone the additional weight of Dobbs. A horrendous feeling of déjà vu swept over him as he realized he was going to fall.

"Steve!" His desperate utterance wasn't a shout, it was more a breath than a word. Steve was hurt, probably couldn't help him. It was more than a plea. It was an acknowledgement. An apology.

Steve heard him. He had heard _everything_ that had gone on, had fought to make his body work, to focus, to see where the struggle was taking place. He had managed, getting back up to his knees, eyes finally fixing on the third platform from the ground where he could see Danny's plight.

"Danny! Hold on!" he yelled, frantic. He had relocated his gun, picked it up. He raised it, one handed, then hissed in desperate frustration because he just couldn't aim straight with his one functioning arm. He had to get it right, couldn't risk hitting Danny. He pushed himself to his feet, grunting with pain, then lurched over to the concrete mount. He went down on one knee, balancing the muzzle of the gun on the block to keep it steady.

He looked down the sight, concentration absolute, took aim and fired.

Dobbs jerked. His death grip on Danny's ankle was slowly, slowly released. He dropped, limp, no cry of alarm, no scream. The sickening thud produced when his body his the ground didn't even echo.

"Danny!" yelled Steve. He stood, weaving drunkenly, and began to make his way towards the scaffolding, trying to rush but just not quite pulling it off. His weapon was still trained on Dobbs, waiting for a twitch, a last minute resurrection, his eyes shifting constantly between the still form on the ground and Danny, hanging helplessly. His partner was silent. He wasn't shouting for him, for help. He wasn't trying to pull himself up now Dobbs' weight was gone. He just dangled, head and shoulders on the wooden platform, body and legs hanging still. It wasn't a good sign.

There was no response.

"Danny! Can you hear me?"

Danny still didn't answer. Was he even conscious? How was he holding on?

Steve could hear sirens now and they were close. Help was minutes away, maybe seconds away. But if Danny fell… Steve knew what he had to do. There was no time to think of his own injuries, no time to risk assess the scaffolding, to work out a safe way up. He had to go for it.

"Danny, just hang on, please, I'm coming up."

Steve stripped off his TAC vest, flicked open a button in his shirt and eased his useless limb into the gap to keep it out of the way.

He made it to the bottom of the ladder. It rose at a curious angle, a jagged break part way up. Steve gritted his teeth, compartmentalised his pain, pig-headedly ignored the grogginess, the dizziness, the nausea. He started to climb. He had to get up before Danny fell. Nothing else mattered.

Danny's eyes were shut. His arms shook uncontrollably as he tried to maintain the unsustainable white knuckle grip. The pain had gone, that was something. He couldn't really feel anything at all anymore. He wondered absently if it would hurt when he hit the ground.

But then a strong hand grabbed his arm and started to pull. He almost tried to fight reflexively but there was something so familiar about that hand. The grip slipped, failing to get purchase on his blood-soaked arm. A moment later and a second hand joined in, gripping the back of his clothes. A huffed out whimper accompanied the renewed effort. Danny's eyes cracked open in time to see Steve, teeth gritted, haul him clear of the drop, up onto the relative safety of the platform.

Danny lay on his stomach, staring at his partner in vague astonishment through half-lidded eyes.

Steve dropped, finished by his efforts. He lay beside Danny, flat on his back, eyes squeezed shut, trembling from head to foot. Sweat poured off him as he panted and groaned, simply unable to do anything but ride out the agony that resulted from the necessity of using his damaged shoulder. His gut and his forearm were on fire, new stitches undoubtedly torn.

A sudden commotion seemed to fill the building. Steve lay, listening. He could hear voices- Kapule, Chin, Lou, Kono. And more, many more. They had come. They were shouting instructions, shouting his name, Danny's name. Running feet, creaking wood, more shouting, noises reverberating dizzyingly around them.

"Dobbs. I've got Dobbs. He's dead!" It was Kono. She was right below them. "Steve! You here?" Kono's voice echoed around the building. That woman had some set of lungs.

Steve took a few deep breaths, tried to wet his lips but his mouth was too dry. Bracing himself, he rolled his head back and opened his own lungs "Up here. I've got him! We need paramedics but I've got him!" he yelled.

"Right, we're on our way up! Just sit tight!"

Steve finally opened his eyes. He turned his head and looked over at Danny. He was white and still, eyes shut, breathing shallow and rapid. There was blood staining most of his clothes and what Steve could see of his body was bruised, his limp, outstretched arm bearing multiple stab wounds. Steve felt the flutter of re-awakening fear, the adrenaline rush from his efforts finally dissipating. Dobbs was dead, Danny was found. But was it already too late to save him?

He reached out and took hold of Danny's lax hand. It was all he could muster, his own injuries screaming at him as they were. The hand was so, so cold. He squeezed gently.

Danny's eyes jerked open and he made a barely perceptible attempt to pull away from Steve's grip, entirely disorientated, before he focused on his partner's concerned face and stilled. He stared at Steve for a moment, a medley of emotions passing over his strained face. Then his gaze shifted to the wound on his shoulder.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" he mumbled weakly.

Steve grinned stupidly at him because, although he could see his partner was in serious trouble….the response was pure Danny. He squeezed the hand again. "Hey Danno. How you doing?"

Danny's eyes drifted shut and Steve shook his hand sharply. "HEY, hey, cut that out. Stay with me, Danny."

Danny blinked, confused, but those eyes stubbornly closed again.

Steve lay, looking at his friend's face. He wanted to do so many things. He wanted to shake him awake, _make_ him keep his eyes open. He wanted put pressure on Danny's bleeding wounds, dress them. He wanted to ask him what had happened, tell him everything was going to be okay. He wanted to get them the hell off the creaky scaffolding.

He couldn't do any of it. He was simply too far gone. So he did the only thing he could do right then- he kept hold of Danny's hand, squeezing gently, until the darkness pulled him away.

 **I do declare the whump…over (but not the story, not quite anyway).**

 **Please drop me a review, I love feedback more than anything.**


	16. Tribute 2: Game of Chance (chapter 9)

**Here's a second chapter for today, just because. And it's the end of the line for Tribute 2...**

LIFE IS BUT A GAME OF CHANCE

CHAPTER 9

Comfortably numb. That seemed to cover how Steve felt when he first woke up, the clean white glare of the hospital room around him an entirely unexpected sight. He blinked a few times, adjusting slowly to the brightness, trying dimly to remember why he might be where he was.

A flash of memory hit him. Paramedics, working around Danny, barking instructions to one another, taking his vitals…which were so, so far off what they needed to be.

"D'ny!" he croaked, wincing as sherds of glass seemed to shred his throat in response. He knew that feeling. He'd been intubated.

A strong hand on his good shoulder made him turn his head. Chin. Chin was seated beside his bed. He looked exhausted. "Take it easy, Steve."

Steve shook his head. "Danny. Tell me." He hissed, insistent.

Chin nodded once. "He's in ICU. Steve, he should be fine. He just needs some time, that's all."

Steve shook his head again. "Bull. I remember. Tell me!" he insisted. And he did remember now, some things anyway. Everything was starting to fall back into place.

The protracted rescue, complicated by the unstable scaffolding. Kono and two paramedics had come up to help them while the fire service worked out how to extract them safely- Steve's wound had been packed, he'd been given morphine and then essentially left alone while they did what they could for Danny. He had lost so much blood, his blood pressure was so low- they didn't think he would make it. They didn't say it, of course, but Steve knew. He could tell.

Chin gripped his shoulder even tighter. "Steve, I know it looked bad. _Was_ bad. Yes, he was in hypovolemic shock, yes it was touch and go. He lost so much blood- it was _almost_ unsurvivable. But he's stable now. They've been monitoring his organ function and so far so good. Okay?"

Steve sagged back against his pillow, allowing some measure of relief to sweep through him. "He awake?"

Chin shook his head. "Not yet. Kono's in with him. She'll let us know if there's any change, ok? Now you- you have to rest." He pointed at Steve's shoulder. "You've got some metalwork in there now- they had to use a plate to stabilize your collar bone. It was a mess. Not to mention the _re-_ stitching the doc had to do on your stab wounds. He was pretty pissed. You are actually gonna have to take it easy for a while this time. No more excuses now we've got Danny back, yeah?"

Steve glanced at his injured shoulder, now swathed in bandages, then looked back at Chin. "I need to see him."

Chin exhaled patiently. "I know. Just….just give yourself a chance, okay. Rest for a while and we'll ask the doctor next time he comes to check on you. Promise."

Steve held his gaze for a second, ready to challenge the logic. The pain of his injured shoulder chose that very moment to begin to reawaken. He grimaced, then snorted. Trust his own body to take Chin's side.

"Hey Steve. You did good. You saved him. If we'd been any longer…"

Steve shook his head. Maybe it was the drugs in his system, whatever, but before he could even try to do anything about it, a lump had formed in his throat and stinging tears filled his eyes. He squeezed them shut, fast. "We almost lost him, Chin," he breathed.

Chin patted his arm. "Yeah. But we didn't."

….

A day later and Steve was virtually resident at Danny's bedside. He was still a patient, pale, sore and groggy. He couldn't go home anyway- he might as well be where he wanted to be. So he told anyone foolish enough to suggest he go get some rest. He would have to at some point, he supposed, but not yet, no way.

He watched Danny sleep, occasionally running his eyes over the bruises, the dressings covering the stab wounds, the still-too-pale skin. His partner had awoken a few times, had opened his eyes. He seemed to look at Steve but he just wasn't quite seeing him, not yet. He wasn't aware enough yet. _Brain damage_ hissed the nasty, pessimistic corner of Steve's mind that he like to keep locked away. Logic said no; Danny had still been Danny on the scaffolding. He just needed more time.

So Steve watched him, talked nonsense to him.

He was so proud of Danny, of his resilience. They didn't yet know everything that had happened, but they knew Danny had saved himself, taping up that first, too-deep, stab wound Dobbs had inflicted on him. The knife had penetrated almost all the way through his shoulder, leaving a deep score in his collar bone on its way by. It touched Steve on a strange, nonsensical level that the two of them had been injured in almost the same place. Danny's wound had to have hurt like hell and the doctors had said blood loss would have been rapid with the vessels that had been compromised... yet he had managed to get together the wherewithal to put together an effective pressure bandage. Steve would have been impressed by that act alone, but then, somehow, despite being literally close to death Danny had saved Steve too. He was a fighter, stubborn and determined, and Steve loved him fiercely for it.

Steve picked up Danny's limp hand, reveling in the warmth he now felt there. He turned it over, frowned at the traces of dried blood still visible under Danny's nails. Sighing, he laid it back down, then abruptly changed his mind. He grasped it, squeezing gently, just like he had high up on that scaffolding.

He gasped when Danny squeezed back.

Steve looked up at Danny's face, saw the sleepy blue eyes peering at him. They were bright and focused this time, making Steve grin like a fool.

"Hey Danno!" he rasped, voice cracking with emotion.

The corners of Danny's mouth twitched upwards. He moved his lips. No sound came out but the simple word was clear nonetheless. "Hey."

…..

The hours ticked by. Steve had gone back to his own room eventually, persuaded to rest by a kindly nurse who convinced him Danny would sleep himself for some time now. By the time Steve wandered back to Danny's room, his partner was awake again and undeniably more aware.

Danny's blue eyes lit up as Steve walked into the room, arm in a sling.

Steve smiled at him, then cast his eyes around the medley of cards and flowers their extended ohana had already produced, matching the floral explosion developing in his own room. A handmade card sat on the bedside table. He recognised Grace's handiwork...she'd brought him one as well, along with a bright smile that had made him feel instantly so much better.

He flopped down in the chair beside Danny. "Hey buddy. How you feeling?"

There was no reply. Steve raised a questioning eyebrow, then frowned as he saw Danny's formerly affectionate expression transform into a glare.

"What?" he said, confused.

Danny stared at Steve then shifted his gaze to the dressing on his friend's forearm. He cleared his throat. "He said he'd stabbed you." Danny's voice was soft, still weak, but there was anger in his tone.

Steve blew out a breath. "Yeah, he did a bit. And Duke."

Danny's eyes opened wide in alarm.

Steve shook his head. "It's okay Danny. It was touch and go but Duke's gonna make it."

Danny closed his eyes in relief. Then he frowned, resuming the angry glare. "He said he stabbed you in the gut."

"Well….yeah. But just a bit. Got my belt mostly."

"Just a bit? You're an animal. W-why the hell did you come after me? Why weren't you in hospital?"

Steve smirked at him fondly. So _that_ was his problem. "Well, Danny, I am now, if that makes you happy."

Dany shook his head. "I hate you so much."

Steve shook his head too and laughed. "Don't make me say it, Danno. You know you don't. Hey, were you worried about me?"

"No. No, why the hell would I be worried, huh? Why would I worry about you?! What is there about this whole situation that could possibly have worried me in the slightest, Steven? I mean I broke my cellphone, I ran a guy over, the guy turned out to be a homicidal maniac who told me he'd stabbed _you,_ then stabbed me and threw me off a building!"

Steve opened his mouth to interrupt, but he wasn't fast enough and Danny wasn't finished.

"You'd been stabbed! You were injured! You came into that building with no back-up and got yourself shot." Danny's volume was starting to rise a little now, despite his frail condition.

"Hey, I _had_ back-up." Steve interrupted indignantly.

"You had back-up? Kono told me about Kapule, Steven. You told him to wait outside and phone round everyone while you went in to play heroes all by yourself!"

That was too much. Steve pointed a finger in Danny's face. "Hey, Daniel, _I saved you_! You could at least thank me!"

Danny ignored him completely. "And the last thing I remember is lying balanced on top of thirty feet of rusty scaffolding and rotten wood looking at a huge hole in your shoulder and holding hands with you. Why the hell would any of that worry me in the slightest, huh, Steven? You're insane, you know that? Completely batshit, tinfoil hat-wearing insane!"

Steve stared at him for a moment, incredulous. Then he grinned broadly, picked up Danny's hand and squeezed it yet again. "I know, I was worried about you too, partner. It is so, so good to have you back."

Danny glared even more fiercely for a moment, then broke, the fury draining out of him. He glanced at Steve's hand then squeezed back, suddenly averting his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered. Those simple words were so heart-felt, so sincere, so laden with meaning that Steve actually felt his eyes filling again.

Danny glanced up at him before looking back down at their joined hands. "And I'm sorry."

Steve frowned, waiting to see where Danny's train of thought was running off to this time.

"I'm sorry you were shot. I'm sorry I didn't stop him sooner."

Steve shook his head. "Danny, no. You almost died. You get that, right? You were actually almost dead and you saved me. You do _not_ get to apologise."

Danny looked up at him, unconvinced. He huffed out a breath, suddenly uncomfortable, keen to move the subject matter on. "How'd you find me anyway?"

Steve shook his head. "Fluke, buddy, sheer fluke. Kapule spotted some pigeons flapping about and we went to check it out. Remind me we owe him big once we're outta here. I'm thinking a commendation from the governor, something like that?" He paused, shooting a mischievous look at his partner. "Yep, it really was a fluke we found you. It guess it was just your lucky day!"

Danny rounded on him, rant mode fully re-engaged.

Steve grinned.

….

Steve strode along the hospital corridor, a stack of magazines wedged behind his sling, a pizza box balanced on his good hand. A week had gone by and he had been discharged. Danny wouldn't be far behind- he had improved in leaps and bounds.

He pushed open the door to Danny's room, then froze. The bed was empty. Steve put the pizza and the magazines down on the little table. The door to the john lay ajar and he walked over, knocked on it.

"Danny?"

There was no response. Danny wasn't there.

A creeping edge of fear rose in his gut, but he shoved it down just as fast. He thought for a minute, then turned and walked out the door. He knew where Danny was.

….

Duke's room was dimly lit and the regular beeping of machines provided constant, inescapable background noise. Somehow Danny had fallen asleep there, slumped down in an uncomfortable looking plastic chair beside the bed.

Steve looked at his friend's face, the slight frown he wore even in sleep. Danny always seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, tormented by what could have been, what should have been. Steve couldn't change that, couldn't change who Danny was. All he could do was be there for him.

He was pretty sure he knew what was bothering his friend now, beyond ongoing concern for Duke. Unfinished business. Dobbs had done the damage and Dobbs was dead. That was all good. But none of this would have happened if Dobbs hadn't been out dealing for Anthony Blake. The rest of the team had been digging the dirt on Blake while he and Danny were laid up. He was a rising figure in the Hawaiian underworld. Drug dealing, arms dealing and human trafficking- he was dabbling in them all. So now it felt like Dobbs was the tip of the iceberg. They had to finish the job- they had to bring Blake to justice.

Steve pulled up a chair and sat down beside Danny.

He looked down at Duke. He was sleeping too. He was winning the fight, getting stronger every day, thank God.

Steve glanced back up at Danny only to see he was now awake. He reached over and squeezed Danny's arm, gave him a strong, reassuring smile, the message plain. _We'll get Blake._

Danny looked at him, pain in his light blue eyes, then he nodded in acknowledgement and smiled right back.

 **THE END…..?**

 **The next tribute sneakily ties in to this one although it's inspired by an entirely different show. However, it exists mostly just in my brain at the moment so it'll be a while before it's done.**

 **Thank you so much for the incredible support I've had, I appreciate every last review- they inspire me to keep plugging on with this bizarre hobby. Special thanks to Irene Claire for putting up with last minute beta demands on last minute re-drafts and for her general fabulousness.**

 **For anyone who was interested in the inspiration for Tribute 2….info and some babbling on about it for no good reason is below (bypass if not interested!)**

This was a tribute to an episode of the UK cop show 'The Bill' which astonishingly ran from 1984-2010 with no hiatus, no breaks, 2 to 3 episodes a week without fail. It started as a gritty cop show following the fortunes of one shift at a police station in London, strictly while they were at work. Latterly some lunatic decided to change it into a soap opera, at which point I stopped watching. Then (as now), I couldn't care less who they're sleeping with, I just want to see the banter, the camaraderie, the bro-love and the bad-guy catching (any whump of attractive men is always a bonus!).

Anyhoo, the episode was 'Cry Havoc', aired in 1991. It was a thing of beauty. I only saw it once but I've never ever forgotten it!

The borrowed elements…. The older uniform officer, in the wrong place at the wrong time, getting stabbed in the chest (Sgt Peters- did he make it? I can't remember.); the bad guy (Gary Mabbs) running off, straight in front of an officer's car (the lovely PC Barry Stringer), the officer being out of the loop because his radio had a dud battery- he was heading back to the station to get a replacement when it happened; And the grand finale was a fight between PC Stringer and Gary Mabbs at the top of some scaffolding in the disused Battersea Power Station; Mabbs belted Barry with a plank of wood and he fell off the scaffolding, saving himself by grabbing some netting. Mabbs tried to dislodge the netting but fortunately a guard dog with impeccable timing appeared, jumped up at Mabbs and he fell to his death.

The bad guy was hapless, left his knife in Sgt Peters and had certainly never been a hitman, but he led PC Stringer a merry dance anyway before their fight.

I just loved the entirely linear storyline, the descent into chaos through sheer bad luck, with no nefarious plots involved whatsoever.

The very best bit of the ep was when Barry's best friend PC Stamp found him (no idea how, he just kind of appeared. And he wasn't even stabbed or shot or anything!). Mabbs was already dead and Barry had managed to climb back to the top of the scaffolding. He wasn't hurt badly, just really shaken up. But we had a short scene of proper manly hurt/comfort between them at the top of that scaffolding which just really, really floated my boat. Here's hoping the Powers That Be release it on DVD soon, would love to see it again.


	17. TRIBUTE 3: EUPHORIA (chapter 1)

**This is the first tribute I started writing but I kept chickening out and stopping, then slinking back to it again on account of my recently diagnosed and apparently untreatable Danny whump OCD. It's been the toughest to do because the original is so damn perfect it's pretty much sacrilege to even touch it. But I'm doing it anyway, apparently, although it has kind of come out as a bit of plot-lite whump etc. If you're looking for a proper story, read no further.**

 **If ANYONE doesn't get the show and episode this 'story' is a tribute to by chapter 3 (in fact, by the end of the warnings, now I think about it…) you have missed a high point in bromantic TV history and really need to amend that, fast!**

 **Thanks to IC for telling me this doesn't suck beyond suckiness and for making me draw…it…out… (And a quick shout out for her and KQ's phenomenal story Endgame...wow!)**

 **OK, here goes….WARNINGS! Forced drug use, descriptions of drug use, a whole heap of swearing.**

 **Disclaimer. Not mine.**

 **Danny whump, Steve whump, angst and hurt/comfort!**

TRIBUTE 3- EUPHORIA

CHAPTER 1

"FUCKING WELL TELL ME THAT CODE!"

Anthony Blake literally spat the words in Steve McGarrett's face. Saliva splattered on his cheeks, in his eye, but Steve didn't blink, he didn't break eye contact with the man for an instant. He curled his top lip in a sneer, then casually spat a mouthful of blood towards Blake's feet.

Steve's expression was dispassionate, bourn of decades of training and experience. He was blowing hard, the sweat glistening as it ran down his muscular torso, streaking the fresh blood that dripped from his nose and mouth. Those fundamental physical responses to his on-going abuse were unavoidable, but he easily suppressed the slight tremors that ran periodically from his wrists, now cut deeply by the ropes that held him suspended from a hook in the ceiling, down his over-extended arms and his strained shoulders, right to the tips of his toes which could almost, _almost_ touch the dirt floor of the cold, dank basement.

He would show no fear. He would conceal his exhaustion. His pain would _not_ be reflected on his face. He wouldn't be broken.

Blake pursed his lips and raised his chin, glaring at his belligerent captive. The fury emanating from him was palpable. "Give me the keycode," he growled. "You know I'm going to get it, one way or another…."

The threat held in Blake's voice turned Steve's stomach. For all his self-control, he knew he had much more to lose in this current situation than simply his own life. That fact alone ensured that, for all his intentions to the contrary, behind his rock-hard façade he was genuinely afraid.

Blake turned his head towards the muscle-bound goon who stood at the side of the room, breathing almost as heavily as Steve himself. He nodded once in silent instruction, before stepping back to watch the show.

Steve spat on the ground again, eyes still fixed on the hated figure of Blake. He braced himself mentally for the next onslaught even as the giant of a paid thug squared back up to him.

The punches came thick and fast, impacting on his face, his chest, his gut, his kidneys.

It fucking hurt and he couldn't help but grunt reflexively, but the unimaginative efforts of the nameless goon were entirely wasted. The injuries the man was inflicting were superficial and irrelevant. Gritting his teeth _hard,_ Steve was yet again able to zone the man's efforts out as he did his level best to break the Five-0 Commander. His abuser was an amateur. Having said that, Steve was going to take the very first opportunity made available to him to send the bastard straight to hell.

Blake snorted in disgust, recognizing Steve's resolve. He moved away towards the heavy door and yanked it open. He stormed through, slamming it shut behind him, the metallic clang reverberating around the airless room.

Steve's eyes had followed his every step, his entire laser focus fixed on the door as it opened and closed for that one split second, hoping against hope he would see something, _anything_ , that would let him know what was going on out there.

No, he wouldn't show any fear, that wasn't going to happen. But he _was_ scared. Not for himself- not for a second. For his partner.

Because they didn't just have Steve, they had Danny too, and Steve had no idea what the hell they were doing to him.

 **Short but (not) sweet chapter to start...**

 **Drop me a review, let me know what you think...and guess the inspiration for prizes of honor and glory!**


	18. TRIBUTE 3: EUPHORIA (chapter 2)

**Reviews are making me very happy and fueling me up for more whumping, so THANK YOU.**

 **I'm giving nothing away. I'm not even going to say if anyone has guessed it yet, because I cannot believe that 90% of you won't know it. You don't need any clues. You love bromance or you wouldn't be reading this, therefore you MUST have seen this legendary episode!**

 **Really appalling language. I would swear in this situation so I think they're allowed.**

EUPHORIA

CHAPTER 2

Danny gulped for air through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut, the wind knocked clean out of him by a vicious blow to his stomach. A follow-up right-hook to the chin that he never even saw coming had him seeing stars. He choked on his own blood for a horrible, endless moment before he managed to spit it up. He gasped for breath, groaning in pain.

He was so, so done with this day.

It had started as a day no shittier than any other average day had been for Detective Danny Williams since his enforced move to the 'tropical paradise' of Hawaii five long years earlier. It had rained for a while, Steve had commandeered his car keys before driving them around at twice the legal speed limit just for the hell of it, then Rachel sent him a seemingly innocuous text that pissed him off for no good reason. Just the usual.

Then things had actually picked up. Five-0 had found themselves one great big step closer to pinning down Anthony Blake, kingpin drug lord and all-round scumbag, to seeing him spend the rest of his days locked up…and that was a _very_ good thing.

They had been gunning for Blake ever since the clusterfuck of a day that had unfolded six months earlier when one of Blake's low-ranking street dealers had run amok, stabbing Duke and Steve, then Danny, before Steve and Danny had eventually managed to take him out.

Danny had nearly died that day and, although Samuel Dobbs might have held the blade, he was just another part of the whole stinking nest of bad guys ultimately under Blake's control, all concerned with bringing the toxic menace of heroin onto the streets of Oahu.

Five-0 were out to bring Blake down. They had rattled his people, busted his properties, seized his assets….but Blake was careful. He had kept himself one step removed from every last incriminating transaction and his entourage were loyal to a fault. They were picking apart his empire one piece at time, but they had struggled to find something that would bring down the man himself.

A sheer stroke of luck had dealt with that problem. An unremarkable cardboard box had been seized during a random bust the previous day. Contained inside; a 9mm semi-automatic handgun, a pair of shoes and a crumpled up suit. Kono had whipped said box and contents over to Charlie Fong to work his magic on.

Then, first thing that very morning, the team had arrived at work to discover Fong had been hard at it all night…..and he had a range of fabulous results for them.

The box, as it turned out, was stock full of incriminating evidence. No doubt it had been intended for appropriate disposal, but someone somewhere along the line had cocked up and it hadn't happened. It contained pure gold. The gun in the box….ballistics fingerprinting had proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that it had been used in a triple homicide. A rival drug lord and his family had been taken out in a cold blooded hit at a remote house on the North Shore a year earlier. And the multiple prints on the weapon, partials on the trigger, even on the _bullets-_ every last one matched those of Anthony Blake himself _._

And, if the gun wasn't juicy enough, just in case Blake tried to claim his prints had ended up on the weapon _after_ the murder…blood splatters on the shoes and the suit DNA matched to all three of the victims. Add in more of Blake's fingerprints on the shoes- underlying AND overlying the blood- plus strands of his hair on the shoulders of the suit…the man was tied in neatly to the outfit AND the murder….the evidence was dynamite.

So, happy in the knowledge that they could finally take Blake himself down, the Five-0 team had spent the remainder of the day hunting for him.…..but they couldn't find him. The man was lying low.

That was okay, that was nothing new and they could all cope with that. Blake would surface in time and, when he did, all the evidence they needed to stick him away was now locked up, nice and safe, at Five-0 HQ.

But then Danny's day had gone from average, to great, to really, really shitty.

A call from Kamekona with a possible location for Blake's accountant- yet another piece of the drug empire puzzle- had Steve and Danny heading to an address on the outskirts of Waikiki. The man was not thought to be violent, not a real threat, and he was supposed to be alone. It should have been a straightforward lift. Even Danny was relatively happy to go in without back-up, which was totally infuriating because it meant he couldn't really be mad with Steve about what had happened next.

Because they _had_ gone in and they _had_ secured the man without a single shot being fired, but then, without warning, the shit had hit the proverbial fan. They had found themselves surrounded by a dozen heavily armed goons. It was a trap. Blake knew what they had. He'd gone for the jugular, feeding Kame the bogus intel in the full knowledge he was a Five-0 informant.

One dizzying ride in the trunk of a car later, trussed up tight with a hood over his head, _none_ of which had done much for Danny's claustrophobia, thank you very much, he found himself shirtless and tied to a chair in some random dank, stinking basement with a muscle-bound goon pummelling seven shades of shit out of him.

He wasn't even sure if Steve was okay, that was the worst of it. They had been split up from the moment of their capture so he had no way of knowing. He had his suspicions- he'd heard tell-tales, stomach-churning noises emanating from the other side of a heavy metal door in his own delightful accommodation when Blake had opened it all too briefly which led him to suspect Steve was here too and enjoying the same treatment as Danny. Danny would take a great deal of pleasure in dispatching every last one of these bastards should the required circumstances arise.

He and Steve hadn't exactly had the chance to talk tactics, but their options were pretty limited. Random opportunities to attempt escape had thus far eluded them, which left just two choices.

Choice number one; give the angry man the information he wanted, i.e. the keycode for gaining access to Five-0's dedicated evidence locker. Blake was _not_ pleased about the evidence they had on him. He wanted it back. He already had their passcards, their office keys and, apparently, eyes on the rest of the team so he would know when the coast was clear….he just needed that keycode.

This option had two obvious drawbacks…firstly it would present the bad guys of Oahu with access to all the evidence Five-0 had pertaining to active cases, thereby potentially undoing months of hard work and ensuring a suite of hardened criminals who would otherwise be locked up in Halawa remained on the streets. Secondly, even worse, undoubtedly the thanks for providing said information would be a bullet to the brain for each of them. Not tempting.

That left choice number two; hang tight. Tough it out. Trust in the team. They would have been missed by now. They didn't have their phones- they had been taken before they were moved, so no one could track their location- but the team were good, the team were resourceful. They would find them.

It was a no-brainer really. Danny would take his beating. Danny didn't have Steve's training- police 101 didn't include coping with rudimentary torture- but he was a tough guy for all his habitual moaning and whining. It wasn't like he hadn't been beaten for information before and, with a trouble magnet like Steve for a partner, the chances were this wouldn't be the last time. It was shit. _Really_ shit. But he could take it.

The thought of his friend being beaten too made him sick, and he _yearned_ to see him, to find out if he was okay. But, for all that, he knew it could be worse. He knew Steve could take it as well as he could, if not better with his crazy SEAL background. With luck the team would come through for them in no time flat and they would be out, stitched back together, bitching at each other and comparing injuries over a beer in a matter of hours.

A particularly brutal punch to the gut had him doubled over, straining against his bonds and fighting for breath yet again. His attention was pulled rudely away from his morose review of the day and back to the harsh reality of the present.

He blinked away tears of pain and looked up only to see the man himself, Blake, right there in his face. He had periodically found himself on the receiving end of a screaming rant from the head honcho who, by the way, had some major anger management issues.

Blake smiled a humorless, reptilian smile and Danny suddenly got a horrible, horrible feeling in the pit of his aching stomach.

Blake raised his hand, dangling something in Danny's line of vision. His wallet.

"You're Danny Williams."

Danny smiled his own humorless smile between harshly drawn breaths, ignoring the pull on his cut and bloodied lips, and projected his very best New Jersey attitude at the man. "Well done, you can read. And you're Anthony Blake. What's your point?"

"You killed Samuel Dobbs." Blake bared his teeth just a touch as the words left his lips.

Danny blinked a few times. There was something in Blake's tone that started warning bells ringing in his head. Of course, he could have corrected Blake, could have told him it was actually Steve's bullet that had done the job, but the guy seemed pretty pissed about it for some reason and no way was Danny setting Steve up to take the fall for that.

In the end, Danny shrugged, neither confirming nor denying. "Why do you care so much?" he asked, genuinely puzzled. "I know he worked for you, but wasn't he on the bottom rung? He was a junkie."

"He was a junkie." Blake repeated flatly.

Danny nodded, hoping the uncertainly wasn't showing on his face.

"It's true, he _did_ become an addict. It wasn't always like that. He used to be welcome in my home. He used to be a friend, before that drug changed him. Heroin is a terrible, powerful thing."

Danny stared at Blake incredulously. "You're kidding me. You're blaming big, bad heroin? The drug _you're_ hell-bent on bringing onto the island. The drug _you're_ dealing? You stupid, hypocritical _bastard!"_ His volume raised incrementally as he spoke and he pulled forwards, straining against his bonds, almost overwhelmed by the desire to pound Blake's stupid face into oblivion.

Blake's lips narrowed. "Watch. Your. Mouth," he hissed, then back-handed Danny across the face, his big, ugly signet ring tearing a ragged cut across the detective's already-swollen cheekbone.

Danny's control of his temper snapped. "Fuck you!" he yelled. "Fuck Dobbs! He was a no good murdering junkie and no one _made_ him take that shit! No one _made_ him shoot up."

Blake's eyes blazed at that. He raised his hand again, face reddening with fury.

Danny gritted his teeth and glared up at Blake, refusing to flinch away from the anticipated assault.

Blake froze, his hand poised in mid-air. The two men stared at each other, both panting for breath, adrenaline pumping.

Then, entirely unexpectedly, Blake straightened up with a grin. He lowered his hand to Danny's face and, instead of delivering the threatened blow, patted his cheek. "You know, Danny Williams, you've just given me an idea. Time for a change of tack."

 **What do you think? Please review and please have a guess at my inspiration.**


	19. TRIBUTE 3: EUPHORIA (chapter 3)

**Wow...yeah, thanks for the reviews and the fantastically detailed PMs! Hugely appreciated! You're all getting it right... Tracey450 was first. AGAIN. Three for three. Did we grow up in the same house or something? I'll still not say what it is in case other people want to try to guess..**

 **On with the show. Remember the warnings- if you have issues with that kind of thing, stop reading.**

 **I am preparing to run and hide right now, just for a change.**

EUPHORIA

CHAPTER 3

Steve awoke with a jerk. He had been half-asleep, head lolling forwards on his chest. Once he'd established there was no way in hell he could get himself free, he had taken the tactical decision to rest during a brief, unexplained hiatus in the abuse being doled out to him. He tried to open his eyes, then paused to wipe the sides of his face on his arms when he realized they were all but sealed shut by congealed blood. The ache in his shoulders was almost unbearable now, due to his prolonged suspension, but his hands and wrists were blessedly numb.

He blinked, groggy and disoriented, eyes roaming the bare brick walls, the dirt floor of the unfurnished room. The distinctive musty smell of damp basement assaulted his senses. The single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room was barely bright enough to illuminate the small space and unnerving shadows lurked in the four corners of the windowless room.

The nature of the predicament back to him and he groaned softly. And Danny- where was Danny?

His listened then, and his eyes widened as it slowly dawned on him what had disturbed him to begin with.

There was a commotion on the other side of that big, metal door. Raised voices. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, because one of those voices was unmistakable. It was Danny. He was torn between a feeling of utter relief, because his partner was alive and apparently still feisty, and trepidation, because Danny sounded _furious_ and he didn't think the man's legendary temper would do either of them any favors in the current situation.

The door swung open.

Steve's heart lurched as his partner was dragged through, one large goon yanking on each arm. Danny was unsteady on his feet but he was still struggling, still trying to pull away, trying unsuccessfully to angle himself to get a kick in at either one of the men who were restraining him so effectively.

Steve winced as he took in his partner's condition. Danny's bruised and bloodied face was a close match for Steve's own and his bare torso was marred by contusions.

Steve was going to _kill_ every last man in this building.

But Danny might have been battered but no way was he beaten. His blue eyes peered blearily at Steve, no doubt assessing his condition too, then he shot him a bloody smile.

"Hey Steve. You good?" He was trying to come across as nonchalant and cocky, but Steve could hear the concern and the fear underlying his tone.

Steve nodded once, smiling back in what he hoped approached a reassuring manner. "I'm good Danno. You?"

Danny snorted. "Yeah. These idiots punch like girls."

"Hey!" Steve scolded, "Don't let Kono hear you say that."

"I mean like ten year old girls." Danny clarified with a smirk.

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but Blake stepped rudely between the men.

"This is touching. So, it seems we're dealing with tough guys here. Kudos to you both. Generally people find it easier to talk when they don't have a friend with them, when no one is there to see them break, but clearly separating you isn't working. Time for to try a different tactic, I think."

Blake began to pace the floor, slowly, between the two restrained men. He stopped in front of Steve, then took a step closer. With no warning whatsoever, he punched the Five-0 Commander in the gut.

Steve wasn't ready for it. He grunted and gagged, then swore. The momentum from the blow left him swinging slightly at the end of his ropes.

"Bastard! Don't touch him!"

Steve looked up towards Danny's voice and saw his partner struggling all the harder against the men who held him.

Blake narrowed his eyes, smiling in satisfaction. "I thought as much. Hit one, hurt the other. Sweet."

He stepped forwards, his face now inches from Steve's own, plainly watching for any reaction. "How about it, Commander McGarrett? What's your limit? What would I have to do to your partner for you to say 'no more', for you to give me what I want? We could keep beating him. Maybe break some fingers? Break his arms? Do his ribs, one at a time?"

Steve somehow managed to show no reaction whatsoever for all his heart suddenly pounded with fear.

Blake nodded. "Okay. What if I tell Gigantor here to fuck him? Make you watch? Would that do it?"

Steve's stomach dropped. He let his eyes flick over to 'Gigantor', not daring to look at Danny, not wanting to even _think_ about what his reaction to the prospect of being raped might be, in time to see the goon in question exchanging a horrified look with his cohort over Danny's head. Okay, the hired help were _not_ on board with that plan. The tight knot in Steve's gut eased just a touch and he re-established his belligerent stare.

Blake smiled knowingly. "It's OK, Commander. As much fun as that would be to watch, I have something else in mind for pretty-boy anyway. Something more apt. I do enjoy a touch of irony, you see."

He turned and nodded at the two goons.

Steve looked on in shock as the men promptly felled Danny, smacking their elbows into his shoulders and shoving him forwards in a well-practiced, synchronised move. They pinned him face-down in the dirt and held him there as he struggled under their combined weight.

Blake walked ponderously over to him and crouched in front of him.

"Look at me, Danny," he said in a low voice.

Danny ignored him, face turned resolutely away.

"I said… Look. At. Me." Blake shot a glance at his men and one of them grabbed Danny's hair. He yanked on it, pulling the detective's face round so he had no choice but to comply.

"That's better. See this?"

Blake pulled something out of his pocket and dangled it in front of Danny's face, then held it up for Steve to see.

It was a score bag of heroin, the pure white color a plain indication of the purity of the powder.

"Now, Detective Williams here has a pretty low opinion of heroin addicts, Commander McGarrett. I think it might do him some good to walk in their shoes, don't you?"

Steve's jaw dropped as he realized what Blake was threatening. "No. No! You don't wanna do that, Blake. You do that, you'll regret it, I can promise you that!"

Blake smiled. "You know, I don't think I will…."

"No, no! Look, use me, not him. _Please."_

"That's a noble sentiment, but I've made my choice, McGarrett," said Blake with a shake of his head, "however, it really doesn't have to be _either_ of you. How about it? Now, I'm happy to accept the information I need from either one of you. Tell me the keycode or Danny here is going on a little trip."

Steve looked at Danny in horror. Danny gazed right back at him, undisguised fear now showing in his blue eyes for all to see.

Blake watched them, smirking with satisfaction. He pulled a small tin from his pocket, opened it up and laid one item after another on the ground, lined up neatly for the partners to take in. A spoon, a lighter, a syringe, a pack of needles. Everything required to prepare a hit. He picked up the needles and waved them in Danny's face.

"See, brand new and clean. You, my friend, have absolutely nothing to worry about. I think you might actually like this."

Blake began a theatrical preparation of the heroin, taking his time, maximizing the impact. He heaped it ever so, ever so carefully on to the spoon then played the lighter to and fro beneath it, watching in rapt fascination as the powder began to liquefy.

"Nothing but the best for you Danny. This is the best Fine China White money can buy. You're gonna feel like you can _fly._ I think you are gonna ab-so-lut-ley love it."

Blake held the newly-filled syringe up in the air, turning it slowly as if considering the liquid inside.

"Get him ready," he barked.

Danny was all but crushed under Blake's men already. The thug closest to Steve shifted his weight, hauling Danny's arm further out from his body and turning it over, twisting it awkwardly to expose the underside. He held it there, squeezing Danny's wrist in an iron grip. Danny grunted, trying desperately to struggle free, but he could barely move at all.

"Blake, stop, don't do this!" Steve pleaded. "STOP!"

Blake ignored him. He shifted forwards, pulling a length of cord from his pocket. He tied it around Danny's arm, pulled it tight, then tapped at his veins with a long, thin finger.

"BLAKE!" Steve yelled, breathing hard and wriggling in a futile attempt to break free. He kicked his legs out towards Blake in a desperate attempt to thwart the man's intentions, already knowing he was too far away to hope to make contact.

Blake pressed the end of the needle to a prominent blood vessel and pushed it through Danny's skin. He stopped, finger poised over the plunger of the syringe. "How about it boys? Last chance. Give me the keycode. It's not too late to stop this."

Time seemed to stand still as the two friends looked at each other in shocked silence, both entirely trapped by their inescapable predicament, barely able to absorb the new twist their captivity had taken.

Danny was gasping for air, half-crushed and distressed, eyes wide with fear, entirely struck dumb for once in his life by the very concept of having _heroin_ pumped into his veins. The immediate effect of the drug was barely even a consideration- the very name was synonymous with helpless addiction, with devastated lives, with _death._

Steve's heart pounded with fear as he looked at Danny's face, as he read his partner's thoughts, as he looked at the damn needle in his arm. No. Just, no. He didn't want this for Danny, it was fundamentally _wrong._ Sweat dripped down his face as the stress of the impossible situation took his toll. He couldn't let it happen.

Steve opened his mouth, entirely ready to give Blake the information and consequences be damned.

A slight shake of Danny's head stopped him cold and he gazed into his friend's eyes in disbelief. His expression was unmistakable. Danny was afraid, but now he was determined. Blake _would_ kill them when he had his information. _Anything_ was better than that.

Feeling a rush of fierce pride for his partner's resilience, Steve nodded to him. He shut his mouth again, his message for Danny clear in his stormy blue eyes.

 _I'm so sorry._

Blake pushed down the plunger.

 ***Squeak* (Hiding now). Please tell me what you thought...**


	20. TRIBUTE 3: EUPHORIA (chapter 4)

**So pesky FF didn't show this story as updated yesterday for some reason. It WAS though...don't miss CH3 if you didn't see it!**

 **Anyhoo, thank you as ever to the people who reviewed. Keeps me plodding on. And sorry, Danny and Steve. I hurt you because I love you and I'm WEIRD.**

EUPHORIA

CHAPTER 4

Heaven and hell. Ecstasy and agony. Danny really, really was so, so done with this day.

The sharp prick of the needle, the disorienting, nauseating, all-consuming impact of his first taste of heroin, those things had been _real_.

At least he thought they had. But now…reality was shifting.

Voices, muffled and distorted, spoke over him, around him, inside him. Steve- Steve was _screaming,_ 'NO, NO, NO, _STOP!'_ The words echoed round and round the blank space in Danny's mind. But it _wasn't_ real, none of it was real, _nothing_ was real anymore.

He had been so, so scared but now, as the warm sunshine slid on through his veins… everything else simply disappeared. The mirage of the cold basement, the specter of his bound and bloodied partner, frantic and desperate, the fear and revulsion of _what they were doing to him_ …in the blink of an eye it all just went away. Nothing mattered.

He could fly.

Complete and utter tranquillity and peace, unadulterated happiness. No pain, no fear. He was warm and he was safe and he was free. Nothing could touch him. He could do _anything._

He had never felt this good in his life.

…..

Steve shivered. He was drained, weak, horribly thirsty and he felt so, so low. The men had finally left them alone, but he felt no relief. He tortured himself now, with hindsight and regrets. His arms were so numb he could barely feel them at all. The pain from his beating had seeped deep into his bones and he felt cold and utterly miserable. His face screwed up as the images of Danny's ordeal playing over and over in his head without reprieve, chipping away at his long-standing emotional barriers.

Steve had watched, powerless to intervene, hanging helplessly a few feet from his partner's prone, pinned form, as Blake pressed that needle home.

He'd watched Danny's face, his expression. His clear blue eyes, wide with fear, had held Steve's gaze like a lifeline, as though that alone could stop the drug doing what it would inevitably do to his body and his mind.

He'd watched as the drug had hit, as the men who had pinned Danny down got up and stood back, laughing and pointing. As Danny's breathing became ragged, as he retched and shook, eyes blinking and confused, fingers digging into the dirt.

He'd watched as Danny's eyes had lost their focus, as his head sagged to the ground, as the tension dissipated from his body and he lay, deathly still.

He'd watched as Blake had rolled his partner onto his back, as he swore under his breath and slapped his face.

The hit they had given Danny- it was damn clear that it had been big and it had been strong. He had crashed so hard and so fast, Steve had been terrified. Terrified that Blake had misjudged, had overdosed him. Blake had blatantly thought it too, for a long, heart-stopping moment, and Steve could do nothing but watch, shaking his head in sickened denial, heart in his mouth, as the man shook his partner roughly until finally, finally, Danny moaned and drew a deep, rasping breath.

When he had seen the steady rise and fall of his friend's chest he could have cried in relief. Instead he had cracked. He had _screamed_ at them, threatened them, told them he would _kill_ them for every single thing they had done to Danny. But right then his threats were impotent. He simply hung there, vulnerable and distraught, unable to do a thing.

They had laughed in his face.

Now, he looked down at Danny for the hundredth time, his desolate gaze fixing on his partner's blank expression, his unfocused eyes.

Danny was lying on his back on the dirt floor, unrestrained, hands out to his sides, palms up. He appeared to be conscious, but he reacted to nothing. He was present but entirely absent, wiped out by the drug. His face was white, his eyes shadowed.

Steve had seen Danny in just about every frame of mind imaginable before. He'd seen him sober and drunk, asleep and awake, high on life and crippled with devastation. He'd never seen him like this. It looked so, so wrong. Maybe he _had_ made the wrong call. Maybe Blake wouldn't have killed them straight off if he had talked. He would keep them around until he had a chance to confirm they had given him the right code, wouldn't he? Steve should have tried that, played for time. He should have prevented this from happening at all costs. _It was his fault._

But maybe it would be still be okay. Danny had only had a single hit for all it was a big one…there was a good chance he would be alright. The stuff was highly addictive, sure, but just one single dose…they could get lucky.

 _Where the hell was the team?_

"Danny!" Steve called softly. He persisted in talking to him, knowing at some point he _had_ to start to reconnect to reality. He hoped Danny could hear him on some level, hoped he knew he wasn't alone.

"Danny! Just hold on. You're doing real good, partner. Not much longer, okay buddy? It'll be over soon. The team will be here soon. I'm sure they will…"

There was no response, no acknowledgement, no sign whatsoever Danny had heard. Steve looked at his expressionless face and felt a sharp punch of grief. "Danny, I'm so sorry," he whispered, "I'm sorry I've not got us out of this yet."

….

Steve had no concept of how much time had passed when Danny finally started to come back to him. It felt like days had gone by before, finally, his partner made a sudden abortive attempt to raise a shaking hand to his head before it flopped back down to the dirt floor accompanied by a pitiful groan.

"Danny?" Steve hissed, heart in his mouth.

"S-Steve?" Danny croaked, voice weak and totally confused.

"Yeah. You okay, buddy? You had me worried for a while there." Steve tried to keep his tone light, a hollow laugh following on from his words.

Danny didn't reply. He moaned softly, eyes drifting shut.

"Danny? Come on, stay with…."

His words were cut off as the bolt on the outside of the metal door unlocked with a loud 'clang'.

Blake.

The man himself strolled in, followed close behind by his goons, one of whom bore another fucking needle. Steve blinked in confusion.

Blake stopped in front of him. "You think he's ready for another hit, Steve?"

"What?!" said Steve in utter disbelief. "No, no, no, you leave him alone!"

Blake laughed dryly. "You didn't seriously think we were just going to give him one hit, did you McGarrett? No, no. We're gonna string him out, mess him up until he has no idea which way is up and he tells me what I need to know. He won't even realize he's done it. You've got a choice though….. you don't want any of that to happen, _you_ tell me the keycode. _Maybe_ he won't be hung up on the smack yet. Maybe he'll get lucky. But, a few more hits though and we both know what it's gonna do to him. So come on, tell me. Stop me from doing this to your buddy, McGarrett."

"You bastard, I'm going to _kill_ you, you know that, right?!" Steve spat, positively vibrating with rage.

"Yeah, so you keep saying, but why?!" Blake oozed mock dismay and confusion. "I think we're being pretty good to him, really. Davis here had really knocked him about and I was kind enough to give him a little something for the pain. And not just any old shit. It's the good stuff. Nothing but the best for our Danno, eh?"

Steve glared at him with pure, unadulterated hate, trying to _think,_ trying to come up with a way out _._ "Look, Blake, it's only gonna be a matter of time until my team find us. Don't make this any worse than it already is. Don't do this to him. _Please_ don't do this to him."

"No problem," said Blake, "I don't have to give him this. Tell me the keycode."

Frustration and _desperation_ boiled to the surface, breaking down his walls, and Steve's face screwed up as emotion almost overwhelmed him for a fleeting moment. "I-I can't. You _know_ I can't…... Look, I'll speak to the governor, see if I can get your sentence reduced. What about that? Leave him alone, let us go and I'll do what I can."

Blake stared at Steve incredulously for a long moment. "Er, no. What are you so afraid of, McGarrett? Oh wait, I know. You think I'm gonna kill you once I've got what I need, don't you?"

Steve set his jaw and stared at the man, refusing to state the obvious.

Blake shrugged. "You're probably right. But not until I know the code is _right_ and that might just take a while…my men have to wait for the right moment to access your offices after all. Maybe, just maybe, that will buy you enough time for your team to find you. You never know! What do you say? 6 digits. That's all I need."

Steve stared at him, stared at the bastard's smug face. He loathed him with every fiber of his being….but what he was saying was only in line with the conclusion Steve had reached all on his own.

Steve looked down at Danny. His partner's fingers were twitching as he fought to return to something resembling awareness. Steve had to do something. He had to give Danny a chance. Sweat ran from his brow as he fought to make the decision. He had to do it. Maybe not the _real_ code….giving Blake the real code would start the final, unstoppable, countdown on their lives….but if he gave them _something,_ just to buy time…

"Okay," he spat, "Okay. I'll tell you if you give me your word you'll leave him be."

Blake smiled. "Good man! Good man, Commander, good choice. Go ahead, I'm all ears."

Steve took a few deep breaths. "The code you need is four-five-zero-four-five-two."

The crime boss cocked his head as if considering Steve, considering the information. "Really?"

Steve nodded, mute.

"Okay, well, we'll soon see if it's right."

Blake turned to the man holding the syringe. He extended a long finger, pointing at Danny. "Give it to him."

"What!" Steve yelled in complete horror, "NO! You said you wouldn't do that! NO!"

Blake sighed deeply. "Yeah, well I'm pretty sure you're lying. So I lied too. I'm not stopping until I _know_ you told the truth and that, McGarrett, as you know, could take hours. Your team are in the office right now, I understand, so we have to wait. Time for Danny here to enjoy a good few hits. It doesn't really matter though. I _am_ going to kill you both anyway- Detective Williams might as well enjoy himself in the interim."

"You bastard." Steve hissed, voice wavering. "You utter bastard! I am going to _end_ you."

 **Hope you enjoyed it... I am but a needy FF writer so please drop me a review and let me know.**


	21. TRIBUTE 3: EUPHORIA (chapter 5)

**Danny whump overload on FF tonight- hooray! Hope you've not had your fill already...**

CHAPTER 5

Danny smiled. He had no idea, absolutely no idea, what was going on, or where he was, or _why_. But he knew that everything was good and right and perfect.

He floated, kissed the sun. Time had no meaning.

He had a far distant memory, maybe from today, maybe from yesterday, maybe from a decade ago. A memory of not wanting this, not wanting euphoria. A vague recollection that he had fought the effects of the needle but he had failed.

But if someone had inflicted this on him, fuck them. Fuck them all because it had backfired. If their plan was to torture him with the needle it was _them_ that had failed.

They had failed because he liked it, so there.

….

They kept coming back, they kept _fucking_ coming back and giving Danny more, pumping more of that stuff into his veins. They came back over and over and over again. They'd shaken Danny each time, slapped him, punched him, yelled in his face. They were trying to get the keycode out of him, trying to see if he'd confirm what Steve had said. Danny hadn't divulged a thing. He had barely made a sound as they abused him. Steve doubted he was even aware of his own name anymore.

Steve's throat was raw from yelling at Blake, yelling at his trained monkeys, telling them to stop, _begging_ them to stop. Blake just kept smiling at him, kept grinning widely. Steve was going to be seeing that smile in his nightmares for the rest of his life, however short that might turn out to be.

His breaths came thick and fast, his heart pounded, he felt physically sick. The knot in his stomach wound tighter and tighter as more time went by. Steve was exhausted, physically and emotionally. He was starting to think his sanity might be slipping. He was a man of action, a man who was fiercely protective of his friends, and this complete helplessness, this inability to intervene and stop these _bastards_ from tormenting the man who had become a brother to him…it was torture of the worst kind. It had become so hard to think, so hard to concentrate. The only thought he could muster was _Danny Danny Danny._ The one thing he was sure of right then; Danny could _die,_ whether they meant to kill him or not, and he could do nothing but watch it happen.

They had to be in danger of overdosing his partner, they _had_ to be, but he had no real concept of how much time they were leaving between hits, how big the hits were, _anything_ useful at all. It was all just a horrific, unending blur.

And he knew, just _knew_ , Danny's body had to be addicted to that shit by now. With the sheer quantity that had been pumped into his veins over the hours, there could be no other way. He knew exactly how many hits Danny had been given, so, so close together. He had kept count. It was the only thing he could do, a tiny act that he tried to tell himself might just help Danny, might somehow help them quantify the extent of the damage should the long, long awaited rescue ever actually come.

The implications of Blake's actions were hard to get his head around. He had witnessed the devastation heroin addiction ravages on a person's life, the need that outweighs everything else that once was important to that person. And the agony of withdrawal, of going without.

Steve could have cried because, thanks to the actions of these _bastards,_ Danny having to experience that pain first hand had become their best-case scenario.

Where were the team? Where the hell were they? It had been so long, too long. A whole day for sure. The bone-deep ache of his own injuries suggested it was longer. Surely, surely this wasn't the one time the team were gonna fail. They'd tracked Steve down when he'd been captured in foreign countries, for God's sake. He had no idea where he and Danny were now, but they hadn't left Oahu, that was for sure. Blake wasn't _that_ smart, was he? There would be a trail. Wouldn't there?

Trapped by the ropes, trapped in his exhausted body, Steve didn't even realize his eyes had drifted shut until, without warning, someone had him by the throat, _squeezing_. He tried in vain to gasp for breath, eyes now open wide. It was Blake. Blake was there again, he'd materialising in front of him as if from nowhere and he looked seriously pissed.

Steve couldn't breathe. He gulped and strained for air, face reddening, veins standing out on his forehead.

Blake's face was inches from Steve's and his cold gaze bore into Steve's eyes as though the man was actually trying to watch the tiny capillaries in the whites of his eye start to burst as he literally suffocated in front of the man.

"You lied, McGarrett. You lied and I should fucking kill you right now."

Steve's vision darkened. He could hear the blood rushing in his head, his heart beating loudly in his ears as it strained to keep him going.

Then the pressure was gone.

Steve gasped desperately, drawing great mouthfuls of air into his lungs. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, trying to work out what the hell was going on.

Blake was still there, still in front of him. The man snorted at him in disgust. "I'm not going to kill you yet. You lied to me, McGarrett, and I want you to suffer. You've made it blatantly clear that the best way to hurt _you_ is to hurt _him_."

He gesticulated to Danny's inert form, then took a step towards him and kicked him viciously in the side.

"No. _Please."_ Steve croaked.

Blake marched back over to him. "I want to fuck with your head. Your buddy. Your ' _Danno'._ He's hooked now and you know it. He's fucked. He's in deep. Ever seen an addict go cold turkey before? It fucking hurts. I want you to see that. I want you to watch him _beg_ for another hit. I want you to see him give us that _fucking_ code and you know damn well he will. I want you to see all of that and I want you to _know_ it's all your fault. If you had talked at the start, none of this would have happened. You've had your chance and you're not getting another. I'm not asking you again, your job here now is to watch him suffer."

Steve worked his lips, searching for something to say, something that might get them out. He had nothing. He shook his head groggily. "You're a son of a bitch, Blake."

"Yeah. Maybe. But your partner is a junkie. And as of now I'm cutting him off."

 **Please review, keep me motivated!**


	22. TRIBUTE 3: EUPHORIA (chapter 6)

EUPHORIA

CHAPTER 6

Something was different. Something was _wrong._ Danny's skin itched. He could _feel._ Just inklings at first, barely perceptible, but the long forgotten sensations of pain and cold and thirst began to niggle. They gradually built, hauling him away from serenity.

He didn't want to leave.

That itching, a mere tickle at first, grew steadily in intensity. He tried to move, tried to scratch, but he found his mind and his body were not connected, not like that.

His lips stung. They were split and cracked and dry. He opened his mouth, tried to lick at them with a tongue that felt like old leather.

"Danny! _Danny!"_

Danny frowned. That was Steve. What the hell was he doing in Danny's dreams?

"Shit, Danny, _please._ Can you hear me?"

Dream-Steve sounded desperate and that made Danny frown more. He thought about opening his eyes but he couldn't quite remember how.

The sound faded away and Danny drifted, riding the waves of sensation as they came in, unable to do anything else. He shivered, bone-deep cold grabbing him with icy claws.

His stomach cramped, an unexpected spasm ripping into him with a ferocity that took his breath away. He moaned as the pain stabbed through his gut. It _hurt_. It rolled away like a wave, but came back in with a vengeance, all-encompassing and inescapable. It built and built. _Something_ was trying to tear its way out of his gut.

He cried out, grabbing clumsily at his stomach, then retched. Somehow he ended up on his side, curled in on himself.

His breathing was fast, erratic, uncontrolled now as he fought to draw air between gut-wrenching heaves. He tried to open his eyes again but the blurred, featureless space surrounding him started to move, shifting nauseatingly. He squeezed his eyes shut, a keening whine of utter misery escaping from his throat.

It went on and on and on, merciless and unabating.

What was happening to him? Was he dying? He didn't understand it, _any_ of it at all and he was _scared._

His lips moved, he tried to form words. "H-Help."

…

"Let me help him. _Let me help him."_

If Blake had wanted to hurt Steve by making him watch Danny suffer, it was working spectacularly well.

Danny had been out of it ever since that second hit of heroin. They'd never given him a chance to recover between doses, they'd just kept them coming. Now he'd been cut off he was finally coming down with a bump, straight into the agony of withdrawal.

He lay curled on his side, confused eyes open but still unseeing. He shook violently, clutching at his stomach and writhing in pain, crying out and moaning for _help_. He vomited, the sound of his strained heaving weak and raw.

Steve wanted, he _needed,_ to go to him, to try to comfort him and it was _killing_ him that he couldn't, that he could only watch his friend's agony from a distance. The Five-0 Commander shivered, horribly distressed and entirely drained of strength. While they had waited for Danny to start rattling, they'd beaten Steve on and off- more for entertainment than anything else, he was convinced. Now he was pretty much finished. Exhausted and dehydrated, every part of his body hurt other than his arms which he simply couldn't feel.

"Ask me nicely." Blake's smug, smart-assed, obnoxious face loomed in front of Steve.

Steve's face crumpled, self-control all but worn away, and a strangled sob escaped from his lips before fury rose to compete with the grief and frustration and fear. He shook his head and _roared_ at the bastard who was torturing them, who was keeping them apart, but it only made the man smile even more.

"P-please…let me help him." Steve breathed the words out and it hurt him so much to beg. He'd said 'please' to Blake so many times now he wanted to vomit, and he knew fine the man was taking a great deal of pleasure from the emasculating effect...yet he felt he had no choice but to comply.

"P-please, you say. But you can't help him anyway. _I_ can. You want _me_ to help him? Look, I'm in a good mood, I'm having a fun weekend, which was unexpected, so I'll make you an offer. Give me the keycode and I'll give him a hit, put him out of his misery, send him back to happyland. Sound good?"

Steve stared at him blearily, trying to understand, trying to _think_.

"Oh COME ON, McGarrett. You want me to give him a hit? You don't want me to? Which is it? Make your mind up."

Steve shook his head slowly from side to side. For a moment, just a fleeting instant, he considered it. How much more harm could one hit do? If it would stop Danny hurting, just till the team finally, finally came…. Then the realization of what Blake's callous manipulation had lowered him to even contemplate hit him square between his puffy, bloodshot eyes. No. Just no!

He gritted his teeth, baring them at Blake, and his frustration, his desperation came out as a wordless snarl.

Blake just laughed. "Easy tiger! _Love_ how you revert to animal noises when you know you're totally screwed. Okay, McGarrett, I can see you're upset. I don't blame you, really, this can't be pleasant. And it's going to get one hell of a lot worse yet. Your partner here? This is just the start of it. Now you _know_ he's gonna tell me what I want to know, you know he is. And you know he won't lie- he doesn't even have the wherewithal to know what day it is. And I'll let you in on a secret…you know what his reward will be? One last hit. A _big_ one. It'll send him straight to heaven, if you get what I mean..."

"OD. You're gonna OD him?" Steve croaked, horrified "Please. Please don't. Please. _He's got kids_."

Blake regarded him with something resembling pity. "Know what, McGarrett? I'll offer you a deal, because contrary to popular opinion, I'm actually a nice guy. You tell me the code before he does and I'll cut you down. You can go check on him- I can see you want to. I'll let you get re-acquainted, spend some quality time together. Well, until the information is confirmed, of course. Then, well...you know. Sound good?"

Steve glanced at Danny, then stared at Blake. "I-I…." He tailed off. His head swam. The information was their only leverage, their only way home. He didn't know what to do.

"S-Steve?"

Danny's weak, pain-filled voice made both men turn their heads abruptly.

"Well, look who's decided to join the party!" said Blake. "Right, McGarrett, you think about my offer while I have a little chat with your friend here."

"You leave him alone. _Don't touch him_!"

Blake crouched down beside Danny's trembling body. He reached out and stroked his face gently, tracing the lines of the cuts and bruises placed there at his command and by his own hand.

"Hey, hey Danno! Hey buddy!" Blake spoke softly, sweetly to Danny as though he was his best friend in the whole world. "Buddy, it's Steve. I'm gonna help you, I'm going to make all the pain go away. You want that? You want me to take away the pain? You want to go back to that nice, safe, warm place again?"

Danny moaned softly. "S-Steve?"

"YOU BASTARD!" Steve croaked, as close to a yell as he could muster. "Danny, it's not me, it's _Blake_."

But Danny didn't seem to hear him, he was focused in on Blake. Couldn't he _see_ it wasn't Steve? Couldn't he tell it wasn't his voice?

Blake smiled. He kept speaking to Danny, kept caressing his cheek. He turned to look mockingly at Steve he did it. "Yes, it's Steve. I've got you, buddy. You're safe and I'm gonna help you. He didn't get the keycode. Blake didn't get it and now we're free."

A weak smile formed on Danny' lips.

Steve shook his head in denial because, oh God, he was falling for it. _Danny, no._

"Do you still remember the keycode?" Blake had leaned forwards now. He murmured his words right into Danny's ear.

Danny nodded, the movement barely perceptible, almost lost among the jerks and shivers that wracked his body.

"OK, remind me, Danny, I've forgotten. Remind me then I'll give you what you need, buddy. Can you do that for me? Can you help me out?"

Another tremulous nod.

Steve's heart broke. "Danny, no. Danny, don't do it. Don't do it! He's gonna _kill_ you. Danny _please_."

Steve saw Danny's lips move, saw him try to form the words. Danny was so out of it he simply didn't know what was going on, he had no idea what was happening, what was going to happen. He was just hearing Blake's words and accepting them blindly.

"S-Steve….s'one. Six. Zero…."

It was the code. It was the _real_ code.

"Good Danny, good boy," crooned Blake. "One-six-zero…. Come on, you can do it. What comes next?""

"NO!" Steve shouted, then the words came out, tumbling over one another "Eight-three-four. It's one-six-zero-eight-three-four."

Blake turned sharply round. "One-six-zero-eight-three-four?"

Steve nodded. "Please, please leave him alone. Please."

Blake smiled wolfishly.

 **Man, hurt without the comfort. That will never do. Er...please review? I think? Yikes.**

 **PS fingers crossed for some actual Danny whump in the H50 ep tonight...what's the chances...? (not that it's on here yet, but, you know, nice to have things to look forward to...)**


	23. TRIBUTE 3: EUPHORIA (chapter 7)

**Hmmm, FF didn't say I'd updated yesterday again (but I had). Think it toils with more than one chapter in 24 hours. Maybe it's telling me to post slower.**

CHAPTER 7

He had been hanging there for a hundred years, his stricken partner a hundred miles beyond his reach. Steve's eyes were glazing over now as exhaustion pulled at him. His head lolled, but somehow he met Danny's sleepy gaze as his partner's eyes fluttered open.

Those clear blue eyes, pinned pupils barely visible, looked _different,_ like a stranger's eyes. Steve blinked, wondering at the change in his friend. Then it dawned on him- Danny looked relaxed and content. For once in his life he wasn't carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and his gaze was rendered almost innocent, almost _childlike_. He focused vaguely on Steve's eyes, then his mouth quirked just a fraction. He smiled a wonky little smile before those eyes drifted shut.

Steve smiled back softly, eyes filling as the realization of defeat was made.

Blake had the code. The _real_ code. Mere moments after the words had fallen from Steve's lips the men had gone from the room, all interest in persecuting the partners done. Blake had paused only to inject Danny yet again, the twisted man's pledges all pure lies, before the door clanged shut. Blake's triumphant laughter still rang in Steve's ears.

They were of no more use to him now. Once his men had retrieved the evidence that incriminated Blake, he would return to kill them. There could be no doubt of that.

Steve was suddenly too tired to care. He closed his eyes.

…..

The sharp retort of gunfire echoed around the small, damp room. Yells, cries of pain, more gunshots followed. Then silence.

Steve's bleary eyes cracked open and he listened idly, wondering.

A shout of 'Clear!' from a familiar voice outside, then the sliding bolt to their prison was drawn back with an inevitable clang. Steve watched, detached, as the mirage of his fragmentary team stormed into the room like avenging angels, before lowering their weapons in relief when they recognised the only occupants.

"Thank God! You guys all right?"

Steve heard Chin's voice, his tone a curious mixture of relief, concern and horror. He looked at Chin's face, watched as it came closer, his dark eyes shadowed in the gloom. He felt Chin's hand cup his cheek.

"Easy, you're okay Steve, we'll get you down."

Then a blur of movement, of sound, Lou's deep baritone in his ear, the scent of his cologne. He sagged forwards, bonds gone, supported by strong hands as he sank wordlessly to his knees. He moaned, squeezed his eyes shut. His arms, his shoulders, felt like they were _on fire_ as the circulation finally returned. His hands…he still couldn't feel them at all. Were they even still there?

He hunched over in pain and someone's arm looped around his shoulders, supporting him. Lou? Hands gently prodded him, searching out and cataloguing injuries.

He opened his eyes, looked for Danny.

His partner was feet away, eyes closed, chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm that he fixed his eye on for long seconds. Kono was on her knees beside him, one hand running expertly over his body, the other clutching her cellphone to her ear.

He tried to make sense of the words she was saying, voice tight and strained.

 _Paramedics._ She was calling for paramedics.

Steve turned his gaze to Chin. The man was crouched in front of him, hands now running through his hair, pressing systematically across his skull in search of damage. Chin frowned with concentration as Steve watched him, then turned his head away, towards Kono.

"Kono, get a hurry up on the HPD back-up as well. We need the scene secured." He turned back to Steve. "Steve, don't worry, just take it easy. Help's coming."

"Chin? Look at this..."

Steve flicked his gaze back towards Kono at the sound of her voice. She was running her hand gently down the inside of Danny's arm, looking closely at _something_. Steve let his eyes follow the movement of her fingers until Chin blocked his line of sight as he crouched down beside his cousin.

"Chin, are those track marks?" said Kono. "It looks like they've been injecting him with something."

" _Shit._ That explains why he's so out of it. Maybe something like pentobarbital? To make him talk? We should have a look around, see if we can see a bottle or something that will tell us what they gave him. That'll help the paramedics when they get here."

Steve's gut twisted. He stared at them blankly as the facts slowly slotted into place in his tired mind. He had been so out of it, so consumed by the situation, he hadn't thought through the implications of what had happened. Danny was a _heroin addict._ If people learned about that… A sick fear drilled into his mind, finally punching through the numbing haze that had settled over him when he was certain they would die.

"No!" he rasped out, even as the thoughts were still formulating in his head.

The three team mates, who had been entirely engrossed, minds automatically geared to first aid and police procedure irrespective of their personal feelings, froze, staring at him.

"What? 'No', what, Steve?" Lou asked gently, squeezing his shoulder.

"N- no ambulance. No HPD."

" _What? Why?"_ Chin looked nothing short of astonished.

"He's….we're okay." He stumbled over the words. _No one could know_. "We don't need…"

"Steve…" Chin shook his head and exchanged concerned looks with Lou and Kono. "You're not thinking straight, brah. Let us take care of things. You're both going to be fine. Just relax."

"No! No. Chin…..they strung him out. Blake…he strung him out." It felt like a betrayal even as the words came out.

"What?" Chin stared at him blankly, uncomprehending. He walked back towards Steve and crouched down in front of him, searching his eyes. Then the pieces seemed to come together. He looked back over at Danny in shocked understanding. "Steve, do you mean…..heroin? He's strung out on _heroin_? Oh my _God._ "

"We can't let…. _People can't know_." Steve raised a throbbing hand and grabbed Chin by the front of his shirt, trying to get him to understand through the intensity of his gaze alone, because words had now failed him.

 **Please review...Thank you!**


	24. TRIBUTE 3: EUPHORIA (chapter 8)

**Thanks to IC, and to KQ for the last minute middle-of-the-night bonus beta!**

 **(Takes deep breath). Here we go.**

EUPHORIA

CHAPTER 8

Steve sat propped against the headboard of his bed, a pillow jammed behind his back, long legs stretched out in front of him. He picked up a bottle from his bedside table with his free hand, took a long, cooling drink of water, then placed it back down, quiet as he could. His thoughts spun round and round. Horrific memories from the last 60 hours, gnawing guilt, fears for the present and the future, doubts over his own judgement- they jostled for precedence, antagonizing his pounding head.

His bedroom blinds were drawn, the room dark, which helped a little. He couldn't remember feeling this tired before, ever. He ached horribly all over. He was pretty sure he had cracked ribs- every movement sent waves of pain ricocheting around his chest. He glanced down at his bandaged wrists, wondering vaguely if his hands would ever stop throbbing. He wished he could take some heavy-duty painkillers and just _sleep_ but he couldn't let himself, not yet. He had to stay alert.

He couldn't quite believe they were free.

As it turned out, they had been held in an unremarkable house on an unremarkable street with no recorded links to Blake whatsoever. The team would simply never have found them if it wasn't for the clumsy, two-phase manner in which the keycode had been revealed.

Chin had realized someone had tried to access the evidence locker after Steve had given them the first code, the _wrong_ one. The team had joined the dots, set up surveillance and waited for them to try again. They had left the office empty to provide ample opportunity for a second attempt but had HPD lying in wait for Blake's men. The trap was sprung, HPD caught the men…. then the team had made them talk.

The way he and Danny had been found sent chills down Steve's spine- it was fortuitous. Haphazard. Terrifying. If Blake's people hadn't made two attempts to gain access to the locker they would be dead by now.

And Blake? He was in the wind. There had only been three men in the house where Steve and Danny were being held captive when 5-0 had hit it and neither Blake nor his gigantic pet brutes were among them. The bastard had got away. That would be remedied if it was the last thing Steve did, but it would have to wait.

He could hear his friends arguing downstairs and he listened, heard the to and fro of the heated discussion which directly reflected his own internalized agonization.

"It's just…it's crazy. They should both be in hospital." Kono's voice was raised, filled with concern.

Chin's reply was more restrained, the volume lower. Steve strained to hear. "Of course they should be, you'll get no argument there, but you _know_ Steve isn't gonna agree to leave Danny right now, and Steve was dead right in what he said. Danny's a heroin addict, Kono! That bastard Blake did that to him but if people find out...if people know..."

"Then they'll know it wasn't his fault! No one's going to judge him for that!" Kono replied. She was virtually shouting.

"No, they won't." Chin agreed. "But that won't help him."

Lou's deep voice cut in. "He's right, Kono, it won't. You know what HPD are like- they're not fans of ours at the best of times. Just imagine what they'd be like if they knew! They'd be watching him, questioning his motivation and his loyalties, _all_ the time. Heroin changes people- once someone's an addict, it's always there, it never goes away. They _always_ want it and if their self-control slips…that's it. They'll do anything to get it. They'll _lie_ to get it. Every last cop knows that. How many drug busts do we do a year with HPD? There's a good chance HPD, maybe even the governor, might question whether Danny should be trusted to be around drugs cases at all. Maybe whether he should even still be a cop. He doesn't deserve that. We _have_ to keep this quiet."

There was a pause as the information sunk in.

"But we'll still trust him, right?" It was Kono again, and she sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

Another pause. One that made Steve's chest tight.

"It's Danny. We'll trust him." Chin. Steve could have kissed him.

"And then there's Rachel." Chin's thoughts had plainly been following the same lines as Steve's own. His low voice, measured and factual, went on, justifying their decision further. "If she got wind of this, she'd have him over a barrel. She'd have him by the balls, whatever games she wanted to play over access to the kids. That would kill him even more than his reputation being in question would."

"OK," Kono said, voice quieter than before, but there was still a distinct waver to it. "OK, so we need to try to keep it quiet. I get it. But are we putting his life at risk? They're both injured. And heroin withdrawal- it's rough."

"Yeah," said Lou, "so we're lucky McGarrett's crazy enough to have cupboards stocked like some sort of field hospital. We've done what we can. We've cleaned and dressed their injuries and we'll keep monitoring Danny's vitals. If it looks like he's getting into trouble we'll take him in, try to keep it discrete if we can. Look, we've all been around the block enough to be aware of what withdrawal involves, but we've got drugs here that we can use that will take the edge off the symptoms. That's all they would do in hospital anyway."

Chin chimed in. "Chills, muscles cramps, stomach pain, vomiting, diarrhoea. We've got painkillers, we've got anti-emetics, we've got Imodium. We can look on the net, see what else would help. I say we run with it, give it a go. We owe it to Danny. This situation could ruin his life and he's done nothing wrong."

Kono still didn't sound convinced. "I hear what you're saying, but all we have are _oral_ medicines. If Danny starts vomiting they won't help him at all! He should be on an IV- that's what we need to be sure we can help him and we don't have the kit for that, let alone the know-how to set it up! They should _both_ be getting fluids. They're _both_ dehydrated. I know Steve's taken on some fluids now, but not enough. And Danny- you can hardly think the little we've got into him will even touch the sides! They were down there for nearly three days!"

Another silence, because Kono undoubtedly had a point.

"Look guys, I still think we're crazy to go it alone… no matter what we look up on the internet, no matter what we go and buy at the pharmacy….whatever we do, that's no substitute for actual medical knowledge! I know our first aid training is pretty advanced, but it's hardly the same. It's enough that they've both had the crap knocked out of them, but heroin withdrawal? Brah, people _die_ from that."

Lou's voice chipped in again after a moment's hesitation. "What about Max?"

Steve's eyes cracked opened at that, because why the hell hadn't that occurred to him? He _hated_ the thought of _more_ people knowing. More people who might look at his partner differently after this…..but he trusted Max. Maybe just asking him what they should do _hypothetically_ , maybe that could be the solution.

Downstairs there was a silence, looks presumably being exchanged as they considered the suggestion. He heard movement, then a door closed and Steve couldn't hear them anymore.

He let out a sigh, so, so grateful that the close-knit team just _got it,_ because he sure as hell wouldn't have had the strength to fight his corner if they hadn't. He knew he could stand down, trust the team to do the right thing because they _understood_. He and Danny were finally safe, the team had their backs. There was only one thing he had to worry about now.

He glanced down at Danny. His partner was beside him on the bed, tucked under the covers, curled up facing towards him. Steve had a hand resting on Danny's wrist, determined to maintain contact with his partner. He had told the team he wanted stay with him, to monitor his breathing, his pulse. It was true, but it was more than that. Being unable to help Danny when he was hurting- that had cut deep. He couldn't even begin to contemplate letting him out of his sight again, not yet. The team understood that too. They had exchanged knowing looks, hadn't tried to push him into trying to get some sleep in a different room, let alone going to hospital alone.

And now it was starting again. Danny was still out of it but Steve recognised the twitches, the abortive movements he was making from the last time, when Danny had gone into withdrawal in that stinking basement.

He was starting to hurt and it was going to get so much worse. But this time, there would be a difference. This time Danny wasn't going to suffer through it alone.

….

He'd been here before. He remembered and he feared it. The confusion, the building pain. This was a bad place, far removed from the heaven he had become accustomed to.

He shook with cold, teeth chattering, even as he sweated and he burned. His guts were on fire, cramping, stabbing spasms of pain tearing through him. He gagged, nausea gripping him. He tried to move, to get up, to twist around, _anything_ to escape the pain.

Strong arms gathered him up as he thrashed, held him close. A bucket appeared in front of him just in time for him to heave into it, but his stomach was empty. He dry-heaved miserably before he was pulled back, back into the close embrace.

He didn't know where he was. Fleeting impressions of his surroundings sunk into his conscious mind and he realized something _was_ different. A soft bed, not a hard floor. Something against his face, but it was soft, it didn't hurt. A warm body, holding him tight as he shook. A familiar smell, strong and clean. Steve?

He opened his eyes, tried to focus. "Steve..?" His lips formed the word but no sound came out.

He blinked, trying to understand. He was bracketed by Steve's legs, cuddled into his chest, one of Steve's strong arms around his shoulders, his other hand gently wiping Danny's face with a damp cloth.

Why wasn't Steve getting him help? He needed help. He felt like he was dying and he _needed help._ He needed….an ambulance, or a doctor or… No, he needed a hit. His body screamed out for it, mourning the loss of the peace and tranquillity the only way it knew how- by tearing him apart.

He needed a hit- nothing else would do. Nothing else mattered. He couldn't even think past the pain and the need, couldn't even remember what _used_ to matter.

He knew Steve was talking to him, his chest vibrated rhythmically as he spoke to him, trying to sooth him. It wasn't fucking working.

"P-please. H-help me…"

He sounded pathetic to his own ears, but God. He retched again, not stopping to wonder where the bucket was appearing from, his whole world reduced to his own inescapable torment.

"Steve, p-please."

"Danny, it's going to get better. I promise you it's going to get better. I've got you. Trust me, I've got you," Steve's deep voice sounded strained, he sounded tired and upset, but Danny couldn't bring himself to care.

Danny tried to fight then, tried to struggle out of Steve's grip, because Steve didn't understand. Steve didn't get what he needed. But he was so, so weak. He found himself pulled tighter into his partner's chest, his head tucked under Steve's chin as Steve kept whispering to him, kept talking to him like he was some little kid who'd had a nightmare.

"Easy Danny, take it easy. I've got you. You're gonna be fine."

Then he was just too weak to fight anymore. He was done. It hurt so much. He couldn't stop the tears that began to track down his cheeks as he gave in, as he sagged in Steve's arms and rode out the misery, listening in silence to his partner's words of reassurance and wishing they were true.

….

Steve pulled the blankets tight around Danny as his partner shivered violently, then wrapped his arms back around him. Danny trembled in his arms, his fast, shallow breaths marking the battle he was waging with his pain.

"It's okay. You're gonna be okay, Danny." he murmured. "I'm here. You're safe."

His nostrils flared with fury as his best friend shook in his firm embrace. Blake was going to pay dearly for this.

 **Please review- love your feedback!**


	25. TRIBUTE 3: EUPHORIA (chapter 9)

**Thanks for the reviews, they're keeping me going!**

EUPHORIA

CHAPTER 9

Given he was safe, he was in his own bedroom, and he was surrounded by the people he trusted most in the world, the adrenaline was maybe pumping around Steve's body more than it should have been. But the prospect of another battle with his stricken partner was looming. He _hated_ this.

Danny was curled into a ball of misery in his arms. His eyes were open wide as he stared off somewhere into the unseen distance, pupils huge and dilated. He panted hard, sweat running down his face even as he shivered. He was agitated and confused and hurting like crazy…. so he was fighting them every inch of the way.

They struggled to give him water, to get pills in his mouth, to get him to swallow them. They were forced to physically restrain him, hold his head still, pry his mouth open to get the tablets in…. and, ninety percent of the time, what they did get down him came straight back up, Danny's body quivering with spasms as he vomited.

Steve hated himself for every moan of distress that came from his partner. He _hated_ fighting Danny like this, knowing his partner was genuinely scared.

Steve leant back a touch so he could see Danny's face. He cupped his cheek and tried to turn it so he would have to meet Steve's eyes.

"Danny, buddy, listen. We've got some medicine for you, something different. Kono went and got it. Max said it would really help you, make you feel so much better." Steve glanced up at Chin, beyond grateful that they had taken the decision to contact Max to ask for advice, even if they hadn't exactly told him what was going on.

"Just let us slip it in your mouth, okay? It's a wafer, not a pill. You don't have to swallow or anything. It's just ondan…. What is it?" He stopped, looked at Chin.

"Ondansetron." Chin said with a wry smile, one hand resting on Danny's knee. "It's a wafer so it'll dissolve in your mouth."

Danny shook his head weakly, pushed feebly at Steve's chest with one trembling hand. Steve grimaced in pain as the light contact pressed on his ribs.

"Maybe if we just put in it his cheek?" Chin suggested. "That might be less of a fight."

Steve nodded in concurrence. "Ok, come on Danny. Listen, you know I'm on your side. Open up. Come on, we're trying to help you."

"S-Steve?" Danny's huffed word came out like a plea.

"Yeah, I'm here." Steve replied gently. "Please let us help you. Just relax and open up. Trust me."

For a second it seemed like he was going to comply. For a second his mouth opened, albeit by mere millimeters.

Then he jerked back, twisted round, tried to fight out of Steve's grasp again. As Danny thrashed his elbow caught Steve's chest in just the wrong place. White flashes of pain sparked from Steve's ribs. The pain was excruciating.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, drawing harsh breaths through gritted teeth while he waited for the pain to subside, vaguely aware that Chin had wrapped his arms around Danny's upper body and pulled him away from Steve, trying to restrain him, to prevent him from causing more injury to _any_ of them.

The whole thing was nothing short of a nightmare.

" _Shit_ that hurt. Shit." Steve gasped, looking over at Chin through tears of pain. He shook his head, about at the end of his tether. "This isn't right, Chin. This is just not right. There has to be a better way."

At that very moment the bedroom door opened. Steve and Chin gaped in amazement as Max Bergman walked right on in to Steve's bedroom uninvited with no hesitation whatsoever. Whether the eccentric medical examiner's timing was simply impeccable or whether he'd been waiting, listening, outside the door, was unclear, but right then Steve didn't care. He was ready to admit they needed more help and Max, in person, was simply the answer to their prayers. In that moment of clarity, he wished they'd just asked him to come straight out to begin with.

Max bowed his head smartly in greeting, dark eyes taking in the situation without comment. "Commander, I have no wish to intrude, however….your team contacted me to request advice appropriate for the hypothetical situation where a person or persons has been forcibly addicted to an opiate substance. I was happy to oblige, but then concluded that, should those circumstances ever occur, it would be better, _hypothetically_ , if I could attend such a patient and render assistance in person. If you have no objections, that is."

Steve chuffed out a disbelieving laugh that was perilously close to a sob. "No objections. None at all."

…

Steve watched in silence as Max busied himself. He had re-positioned himself back behind his partner, supporting his Danny's limp weight against his aching chest, ready to restrain him if necessary. Chin stood close by, ready to assist.

Perhaps Danny was just totally exhausted by that point, but he didn't fight. Or maybe Max was just brilliant. He set up an IV, slipping the cannula in Danny's hand with such skill the detective didn't even appear to register. Somehow he manoeuvred the wafer Steve and Chin had struggled with into Danny's mouth with virtually no effort whatsoever.

Steve cleared his throat as he watched. "Is he gonna be okay?" he croaked.

Max nodded curtly. "I have given him clonidine to help with his agitation and his muscle cramps. I also gave him ondansetron, which is an anti-emetic, for his nausea and vomiting, and some intravenous fluids to counter the significant dehydration caused by his gastric motility: a side effect of cessation of opioids. In different circumstances I would suggest the use of methadone, but I'm guessing you'd like to avoid that as the stigma of long-term prescription of a heroin replacement, albeit on a gradually reducing dose, would essentially be identical to that of using heroin itself. He would be no better off."

Steve stared blankly at Max, because that would be one hell of a lot to take in even if his brain had been firing on all cylinders. He nodded, mute.

"Commander, I am happy to assist in alleviating Detective William's symptoms, but I am aware you must be concerned that he still has the additional challenge of overcoming the _desire_ to self-administer further doses of heroin to face. It will, after all, be the manner with which he copes with the ongoing cravings of addiction that will govern the outcome of this whole affair and the potential for his reputation to survive intact. "

Steve nodded again. Now Danny's suffering was easing…that right there was the crux of the problem. Could Danny overcome this psychologically? The battle was only just beginning. Steve felt a lump rise in his throat.

Max stared at him in an unnervingly intense manner, then placed a hesitant hand on Steve's arm in a rare display of physical support. "Commander. _Steve._ I have every faith that Detective Williams' unfailing and often irritating strength of character in combination with his devoted circle of friends will ensure he comes through this experience unchanged. You can trust that I, for one, will not pre-judge him in future."

Max paused, then released Steve's arm. "Detective Williams should rest more easily now. I believe it would be advantageous for you to sleep too as you appear overtly exhausted and are clearly injured. Your partner will undoubtedly need your support when his physical condition begins to improve. I will assist your colleagues in tending to his needs meantime."

Steve's eyes began to sting and fill. "Max, I….just thank you."

 **Note: Thanks to the lovely KomodoQueen for providing Max's technical medical speech. You are awesome, KQ! And that you to the equally lovely IreneClaire for confirming the first version of this chapter sucked.**

 **That all said….review please…**


	26. TRIBUTE 3: EUPHORIA (chapter 10)

**Thank you so much for all the reviews!**

 **Note to guest reviewer LR….so sorry about your brother and thank you for your kind comments. It is a hard subject matter and it was important to me to keep it fairly realistic. I wouldn't have even attempted this if I didn't have personal experience of dealing with people who are affected. Heroin addiction is a terrible thing. It might be bad choices and bad situations that ordinarily lead people to start using, but you can't necessarily judge a person for how they act once they are hooked because it twists the way you think to such an extent. I hope you see that reflected in this story. Sending you positive thoughts.**

EUPHORIA

CHAPTER 10

Steve winced as a glass smashed off the wall not a million miles away from his head.

From his vantage point, leaning too-casually against his firmly closed bedroom door, he eyed the porcelain vase over on the bookshelf. It had been a wedding present to his parents. He really wished he'd thought to empty the room of breakables that he actually liked. He would go and move it out of harms' way, but leaving his post right now would be a bad plan.

"Y-you know what you are….?" Danny growled, the venom in his voice in no way tempered by the accompanying shakiness.

Steve didn't reply. He refused to rise to it, refused to argue, because this was _not_ Danny. It wasn't his fault. Steve was making a conscious effort to channel any sparks of anger his partner's behaviour ignited strictly in the direction of Blake.

Danny paced around the limited space in the bedroom as he spoke. He was holding his head in both hands now, his movements jerky and frenetic. He was still weak as a kitten, white and shaky, but he could stand up and he could walk. He moved virtually constantly, restless and uneasy.

The intense physical pain was more sporadic now, but the _need_ was every bit as bad as it had ever been. Heroin still had him firmly in its dark grasp.

This was when they had to watch him. In many ways, this was the hard part. It had been hell when Danny was so horribly sick but, now he was stronger, he had become a genuine flight risk. Four more days, Max thought, four more days until the worst had passed.

He slept a lot, thank goodness, but his mood swings between times were astonishing, bewildering to behold. He was beyond irritable, virtually _unbearable_ one minute, then consumed with self-loathing and heartbreakingly vulnerable the next.

Danny didn't want to see anyone, didn't want comfort or platitudes or reassurances. Didn't want idle chat or any other sort of distraction for that matter. Steve's smashed DVD player was testament to that. Steve's constant presence rendered him an easy target for Danny's wrath, but he wasn't leaving. No way. He was going to see Danny through this if it killed him.

Danny hadn't even asked about Grace or Charlie- that was a measure of how severely the drug was affecting him on a fundamental level, his priorities all fucked to hell. Steve had talked to him about them, of course, trying to remind Danny what he had to fight for. He had told him that his family had been held at bay with a tale of a last minute team mission to…somewhere, he wasn't sure what Kono had come up with in the end. Somewhere with no cell reception anyway. Danny had listened to that at least, hadn't told him to shut up, but neither had he said a word. He blatantly didn't want to talk about them. Steve wasn't sure what to make of it and he didn't push the issue.

At that moment, Danny wobbled right up to Steve. He stopped inches away and glared at him for a moment before he looked away, shying away from the direct eye contact because…Steve could only speculate as to why.

"You, McGarrett, are a controlling, interfering, _bastard_ and I actually _hate_ you. I'm not surprised Catherine left you." His words were raw and vicious, his body radiating tension.

 _Not Danny, not Danny, not his fault,_ Steve reminded himself, biting back a knee-jerk response. He still winced because that actually _hurt_. Danny Williams had a sharp tongue when he was in a good frame of mind, not that it ever bothered Steve. Well, rarely. But like this….he was genuinely obnoxious. There was no teasing tone in his voice, no twinkle in his eye to temper the words. Right here and now, he really meant it. There was a blank fury in his expression that Steve had never seen before. He barely looked like the Danny he knew and loved. He was scruffy and unkempt. He refused to shave, refused to fix his hair, wouldn't let anyone else help him with the tasks. They didn't argue with him, there was no point. It would pass. _It wasn't his fault._

Danny put his hands on his head again and turned a tight circle in front of Steve, before shouting out wordlessly in frustration and punching out, striking the wood of the door perilously close to Steve's stomach.

Steve didn't flinch.

Danny stood breathing heavily for a few seconds, then grimaced and sank slowly down to his knees, arm across his stomach. He bowed his head.

Steve's eyes followed him with concern, but he didn't dare step away from the door. He'd fallen for that before and he did _not_ want a repeat of the undignified wrestling match that had followed his error in judgement. Neither of them had been up to that. It hadn't been pretty.

"You okay? You want me to get Max upstairs?"

But Danny wasn't finished, no matter what his body was doing to him right then. " _No!_ That's…he…he doesn't have what I _need_. Will you just _let me out_? W-what gives you the right to keep me here! Keep me locked up in your fucking _bedroom_ you _freak_ … for what is it? _Seven days_?"

" _About_ seven days, Max thinks.," said Steve, careful to keep his tone even and calm. "You've been here for three already. It's an estimate though. You're staying until the worst is by, however long that takes."

Danny looked up then, pain clearly showing on his face, but anger still outweighing it. "Oh and do I get a choice? Huh?" he hissed. "Do I not get a say in this? I'm y-you're _prisoner_? You're no better than _Blake._ "

That was almost too much. Steve almost bit back. He stopped himself at the last moment, biting his lip, digging his nails into his palms. He took a couple of deep breaths before he replied. "We're on your side. And no, you don't get a choice."

Danny doubled over then, a strangled noise emanating from his mouth. His head hit the floor, both arms wrapped tight around his stomach.

"Danny?" Steve frowned, concern rising.

"S-Steve? I need...I need.. _shit._ Please help me." And just like that, the fury was gone.

In a way, Steve found this harder to deal with than Angry Danny because he _wanted_ to help him, he really did. It physically hurt him to have to watch his friend in pain like this, imploring with him to help. But the sort of 'help' Danny was after was not on the menu.

Steve closed his eyes for a moment, then finally moved from his post, sinking to his knees beside his partner. He started to rub his back gently, soothingly. "I know Danny. It's gonna get better, okay? You _don't_ need it."

Danny laughed a strained laugh, slightly muffled by the carpet. "Says you I don't need it. I feel like….Jesus it hurts, Steve."

Steve cringed at the desperate edge to Danny's tone. "I'm sorry, buddy. I'll get Max."

"No. Please don't leave me."

There was a weak, plaintive note in his voice which was so un-Danny like Steve wanted to scream. He did as he was asked, stayed exactly where he was, hand on Danny's shoulder, aching for his partner. "Buddy, I know this is hard, I can see it's hard. Just keep remembering why you're doing this, okay? You don't beat this, you'll lose _everything._ Think of Grace and Charlie, okay? _You can do it_."

Danny had to have been listening. He had to have heard. That was why his response made Steve cringe. "Maybe just…just a bit, just once, maybe take the edge off, huh?"

Steve shook his head. "You're a cop. You know how it works. You know if you go down that route there's no coming back. It's a slippery slope. That shit ruins lives. It's _not_ going to ruin yours. I won't let it happen. You hear me?"

Danny didn't reply. Groaning, he straightened up onto his knees then, no warning, twisted round sharply, lurching towards the doorway.

For a second Steve thought he was going for the handle and he reached out to grab at him, but then Danny just turned and slumped against the door, head leaning back against the wood.

Heart still beating fast at the unexpected move, Steve shifted, sinking down beside him. They sat there, shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee. Danny was breathing hard, his eyes now closed, wiped out by the last bout of cramps.

"I'm gonna kill Anthony Blake." Steve said, as much to himself as anything.

"He get away?" Danny mumbled, suddenly sounding more like himself than he had for days.

Steve clapped his knee gently. "Yeah. But we'll get him."

Danny snorted. "Crazy bastard. Dunno why he was so upset about Dobbs anyway." His voice was soft and slurred, exhaustion taking over.

Steve frowned and turned to him sharply. "Dobbs? _Samuel_ Dobbs? Crazy knife guy? Why, what did Blake say?"

Danny shrugged dismissively. "Pissed that I'd killed him."

Steve stared at him. "Jesus, Danny, did he think you killed Dobbs? Is that what started this off? Was he _punishing_ you?"

Danny shrugged again almost imperceptibly, now barely even awake.

"That's why he decided to shoot you up? But _I_ killed Dobbs. You…you were protecting me? Danny, why didn't you tell him?"

"Would you have?" Danny mumbled.

Steve couldn't bring himself to answer. _Jesus._

He felt Danny's head settle onto his shoulder and his partner's breaths began to even out. Steve's head was reeling. All this shit that had happened to Danny- _it should have been him._ At a total loss as to how to feel about what Danny had done, Steve simply reached down between them and took hold of Danny's lax hand. He squeezed it gently.

With considerable effort, he filed away the snippet of new information with everything else he had yet to deal with. This was _not_ the time.

He closed his own eyes, drinking in this quiet moment with his partner where it _almost_ felt like _them_. He knew it wouldn't last.

 **There you have it...please review :)**


	27. TRIBUTE 3: EUPHORIA (chapter 11)

**Thank you so much for the reviews. Apologies for not responding individually to them today...it's been one of those days when nothing goes to plan and time just disappears!**

EUPHORIA

CHAPTER 11

Steve gazed out of his kitchen window, absent-mindedly stirring his coffee. Sunlight was filtering through the leaves of the trees outside, soft, dappled shadows dancing on the grass below. It looked peaceful. His eyes shifted to the sea beyond, azure and alluring. He yearned to be out there, to dive in, then swim and swim till all of this was a distant memory.

They were four days in now and he was tired. Tired of battling the guilt, tired of feeling sore, tired of worrying, tired of waiting. He _missed_ his partner, for all he was right there. He missed the light-hearted banter, the quick wit, the smart-ass comments…even the moaning. He wanted Danny back but there just seemed to be no end in sight.

Reluctantly, he turned away from the idyllic scene and went in search of Chin and Kono.

He found them almost immediately, seated one on each side of Steve's father's desk (when he would start thinking of it as his own desk, he didn't know). Kono was staring intently at her laptop, fingers dancing across the keys, while Chin flicked through the pile of paperwork they had seized from Blake's accountant. They had inevitably encountered the man whilst tearing the island apart in search of Steve and Danny and now the contents of his filing cabinets were sorted into neat piles around Steve's house.

Steve cleared his throat. "What we got?"

Chin turned to look at him. "Just trying to see if there's any evidence of Blake having more properties we aren't aware of where he could be hiding out. HPD have officers posted at the airports and harbors, so with luck he won't sneak off the island before we get our hands on him."

Steve nodded, then pulled up a chair and sat beside Kono, peering over her shoulder at the screen. He took a swig of coffee, leant back and sighed. He closed his eyes.

"How's he doing?" said Kono.

Steve shrugged. "Kind of quiet today. Wiped out I guess. It's hard to say, he's not exactly his chatty, over-sharing self right now. He's agreed to take a shower at least. Lou's watching the door. Max is up there sorting out pills for him or something. I needed…. I don't know, I needed to not be in that room for a few minutes."

"How _you_ doing?" Chin said in a low voice.

Steve let out a deep sigh then looked over at him. He wanted to say 'fine', but he was just too tired to lie. "I've been better. I feel responsible. I hate seeing him like this and I feel like it's getting harder not to take things personally. I just want to shake him and tell him to get over it already, you know? To just be…. _him_ again. And I know that's not fair, so I guess..I guess I feel bad about that too. That pretty much sums it up."

Chin and Kono had exchanged an incredulous glance at the 'feeling responsible' comment.

"You know none of this is your fault, right?" ventured Kono, brown eyes oozing compassion.

Steve shrugged and looked away, not willing to open up further, seriously not wanting to poke at that can of worms with an audience present.

"You fit enough to go for a swim, or maybe a run? Just clear your head a bit?" Chin suggested.

Steve shook his head dismissively. "Don't want to leave him. He's not ready. _I'm_ not ready."

Kono put a hand on his arm and gave him a sad smile. "You're a good friend, Steve. I think he'll get there. We're doing everything we can. He just needs a little more time."

Steve snorted and looked down at his still-bandaged wrists. "Yeah. I guess I just…I need a sign, some kind of indication that we're getting somewhere, you know? That he's turning a corner in here," he tapped the side of his head. "I need him to stop wanting to run. To actually seem like he _wants_ to fight it. That would be a start."

A commotion at the top of the stairs had the three friends jumping to their feet.

"Heads up, guys!" Lou's booming voice warned from above.

At that, Danny appeared in person, marching down the stairs like a man on a mission for all he was supporting himself against the wall. He was shaved and dressed in clean clothes, his _own_ clothes that Kono had gone and collected for him. He'd even done his hair. He looked pretty presentable, all things considered.

That was all well and good, but there was a wild look in his eye that set Steve's heart racing.

Steve shot glances at Chin and Kono and they retreated rapidly to cover the doorways at the rear of his house.

Danny was making for the front door. Steve moved fast to head him off, to intercept him. He glanced up to see Lou and Max descending the stairs. Lou looked pissed, no doubt annoyed that Danny had somehow given him the slip.

The tension was palpable, another confrontation inevitable.

"Hey, Danny, where you going?" said Steve as he moved, keeping his tone light. He moved casually to the door just ahead of his partner, leaning back against it in a strategic move that had become second nature over the last couple of days.

Danny came to a stuttering halt a few feet away. He smiled strangely but didn't look at Steve, his focus on the door behind him. "Just need some air," he said.

Steve shook his head. "Sorry, Danny. Not yet. You want some coffee? I just made some. I'll bring it up for you."

Danny stood there in front of him, clenching and unclenching his fists, eyes shifting around like he didn't know where to look. He made a small, frustrated noise in his throat. "Steve, please let me _out._ I'm fine now, okay? I just need some air. _"_ His voice was a little high pitched, but controlled. He was blatantly trying to sound _normal._

 _"_ No. _"_ Steve said firmly, no room for argument.

Danny glanced up at Steve for a second, a flash of anger in his eyes. _"_ Who's gonna stop me, huh? You?" There was an ominous edge to his voice now and Steve saw Lou take a step closer.

Steve folded his arms. "Yes. I will. And Chin and Kono and Lou and Max. They will too. But, you know what? I would like to think that we won't have to because I know you, I know you're still in there somewhere and you're stronger than this, Danny."

Danny laughed a short, high pitched laugh, running a shaky hand through his hair. He stood there, now visibly trembling, then started to scratch at his arms. "Okay. Okay….. can I at least sit down here, hang out with you guys?"

Steve watched as Danny's eyes flicked between the door and the window, belying the apparently reasonable nature of his request. He was looking for an opportunity to escape. "No," he replied, lips narrowed in determination.

Danny's face began to redden. Steve could virtually see his partner's tenuous self-control melting in front of his eyes in favor of the unreasonable rage he'd come to expect.

Danny huffed out a few breaths, then took a step closer to Steve. He reached out and poked him in the chest, _hard._ "Why the hell not?" he hissed. "What, you can't stand to look at me anymore, huh?"

"You know that's not true. There are too many doors down here, that's why," said Steve with blunt honesty, frowning a little at his partner's choice of words.

Danny actually growled at that response. Teeth gritted, virtually vibrating with fury, he grabbed the front of Steve's shirt with both hands and tried to heave him out the way.

That was too much. Steve shoved him roughly and Danny stumbled back a few steps, almost falling.

"Will you….you're not my mother!" Danny yelled, infuriated, _almost_ meeting Steve's gaze with wild eyes. "Back off! You're such a fucking control freak, just let. Me. GO!"

They stood facing each other, both breathing hard, Danny fuming and Steve finally ready to snap.

Steve was trying to stare Danny down but Danny still didn't meet Steve's eye, for all an obligatory glaring match seemed inevitable in their current situation.

Steve frowned as something finally clicked in his mind, punching through the anger. He came to a realization. He suddenly _knew_ what was going on in his partner's head. He decided it was time to call him on it…enough was enough.

Steve took a deep breath and stepped back from the door, ignoring Lou's startled exclamation.

"You know what," he said, voice strong and low, "I've had it with this. On you go. Go for your 'air'. Do what you have to because I'm not going to fight you anymore. I've got you figured out, see. We're wasting our time here because you've given up. No, that's not even right. You've never even _tried_. You think this is _you_ now, don't you? You think you can't beat this. You think the fight's already over. That's why you won't look at me, isn't it? You think you're a junkie and you think that's what I see when I look at you. You're _ashamed._ That's why you won't talk about Grace and Charlie too, isn't it? It's too hard because you think you've lost them already. Am I right?"

He glared at Danny, daring him to disagree.

It was like Danny had been slapped. He stared blankly ahead in shock, struck dumb, his anger dissolving in an instant.

Steve nodded once, acknowledging Danny's reaction, then pressed on. "But you know what? That's _bullshit_ because I'm looking at you right now and I do _not_ see a junkie. I see _my best friend_ who's been put through hell and pushed to the edge. I see a man I _know_ has the strength in there to fight this. God knows you're stubborn enough. You _don't_ have to lose everything, Danny, but you've got to get on board with us and _fight_. You've got to find the will to do that. And if you just stop and _let_ yourself think about those kids for a minute, make yourself picture their faces when they find out their Daddy's chosen a _street drug_ over them, I just know you're gonna remember how to fight."

Danny's face crumpled, his eyes filling.

Steve stood his ground, suppressing the knee-jerk impulse to go to comfort Danny. He had to push. He reached over to the door handle and turned it, pulled the front door wide open. He stepped aside again with a flourish of his hand.

"Go on Danny. You choose and I'm not going to stop you, whatever you decide. Choose Grace, and Charlie and _us._ All the people who love you and want to help you and won't _ever_ judge you for what's happened. Choose us and stay here and fight to get your life back _._ Or walk out that door and let Blake win."

Steve stood, his heart now beating a hundred miles an hour, watching as Danny as his partner waged an internal battle that was written all over his face. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Chin and Kono, Lou and Max, now gathered together, standing back and watching tensely, waiting to see how this would play out.

Then Danny blinked. He looked at Steve, _actually_ looked at him, tired blue eyes showing such painfully vulnerability that Steve _knew_ he'd hit the mark with his last minute revelation.

A tear ran down Danny's cheek. "I-I'm sorry." He gasped. "I just…I'm sorry. I'll stay. I want to stay."

Steve stepped forwards without missing a beat. He grabbed Danny by the nape of his neck and pulled him into a hard embrace.

"You can do this, Danno. Trust me." He breathed the words into his partner's ear, and he felt just a tiny bit of the tension he'd held onto ever since the moment when that first needle had punctured his partner's skin finally dissipate when Danny slowly raised his hands and threaded his fingers into Steve's shirt, clinging on tight.

….

The next breakthrough came two hours later.

Danny had fallen into a restless sleep, exhausted once again. Steve sat in a chair beside the bed, watching him, reveling in the new feeling of _hope._ They had a long way to go yet, but if Danny was going to fight with them….they would beat this. He knew they would.

There was a soft knock at the door, then it opened a crack and Chin peered in.

Steve got up and walked over to him. "Hey. Howzit?"

"We've got something," said Chin, his voice low. "There was a receipt amongst the paper files for rental of a boat mooring at Keehi Harbour. The transaction was paid in cash. We've checked with the company and the mooring is held in the name of 'Jake Halborn'. That's the same name the house you guys were held in was rented under."

Steve could suddenly hear blood the rushing in his ears. "Blake! Okay. Is there more?"

Chin nodded. "There sure is. The rental company said there's a fair-sized yacht moored there right now. It arrived last night and they've been loading up with supplies all morning."

"You think he's on the move?"

"I'll bet he's on the move. I'm gonna call HPD, get them to surround.."

Steve shook his head. "No. No, tell them to stand down. He smells cops he'll run a mile. We need to go in low profile, wait for him to show his face."

"Max said he'd stay with Danny," said Chin, sticking his head round the door to peer at the sleeping figure in the bed. "He thinks he'll be out for a few hours now anyway. I figured you'd want in on this. You up to it?"

Steve glanced back, taking in Danny's pale, bruised face. The prospect of getting his hands on the man who had done this to him, to both of them, to _all_ of them, made him positively salivate.

"Let's get him."

 **Woo-hoo. Finally, back to Blake! The end is in sight! Drop me a review please, let me know what you thought. Bit OTT again perhaps..**


	28. TRIBUTE 3: EUPHORIA (chapter 12)

**Apologies, redrafting brain was on overdrive yesterday and failed to pull it back together in time...**

EUPHORIA

CHAPTER 12

Steve scanned the yacht through his high-powered monocular, left to right, absorbing every detail. 62" Navigator Pilothouse, c2010 model. Not the flashiest of luxury yachts- lower end of the range but nice enough- the perfect nondescript escape vessel for a former billionaire crime boss. Steve knew the layout already which was an advantage. Some random murderer they'd been after a few years back had taken refuge on one. He smiled a little at the memory of Danny bitching about the 'bedrooms' being bigger than his whole apartment while he had tried to scrub the guy's blood off his pants with a monogrammed towel.

Steve had counted three men coming and going between a van and the yacht, loading and making other preparations to set sail. One of them was 'Gigantor' himself. Just seeing him again had set Steve's adrenaline levels on an upwards trajectory. He eyed the man's bruised knuckles, baring his teeth just a touch at the knowledge of how they had ended up that way.

Thermal imaging had demonstrated there was no one else in the vessel as yet- Blake wasn't there. The team were now lying low in strategic locations, poised for action, waiting for him to arrive. Steve had found himself cover behind a ubiquitous stack of shipping crates about thirty feet away from what he hoped would be the epicenter of the action.

Steve hated this bit. He wanted to pound heads, not sit still and surveille.

"Any sign of movement?" he said, speaking into his radio. "Updates everyone, please."

"Negative from eastern approach road," came Kono's voice.

"Negative from western approach road," said Chin.

"Negative from ten freaking feet away from you, McGarrett."

He could hear Grover's hushed growl in stereo. Grover was a smart-ass. The muttered radio response was followed up by a series of grunts as the big man made his way over to Steve, crouched down and doubled over in an effort to stay low. He flopped down beside him, leaning back against a crate, out of breathe. "I'm too old for this shit," he muttered. "Hey….I was just thinkin'. You ever stop to think this could be a diversion?"

Steve let out a sigh. "Maybe. I don't think so though," he whispered. He pointed at the passing figure of Blake's big brute. "Either way I want The Incredible Hulk there anyway. And there should be another one just like him somewhere."

Lou frowned. "Are those the guys..?"

"Yeah, those are the guys." Steve interrupted, grim-faced, never taking his eyes off the boat.

Lou was silent for a few moments but Steve could feel his eyes drilling into the back of his head. There was clearly something on his mind.

"Are you concerned any of them might talk to the wrong people about what Blake did to Danny?" Lou said eventually.

Steve shrugged. "It could happen. But as long as we maintain plausible deniability it won't matter what he says."

"You've been hanging out with Danny too long using words like that!" said Lou with a snort. "You mean as long as we keep our boy on the straight and narrow….we can just say Blake's lying?"

"Yeah. It's not ideal, but it's the kind of thing a lying scumbag like Blake might make up about a cop. It's the best we've got. Of course it's pretty likely he'll be dead shortly and that'll eliminate the problem."

The resultant silence told Steve this had been what Lou was angling to find out from the start. "Steve…you know we need to try to take Blake alive, right?"

Steve snorted and dipped his head down for a second. "That's easy to say but… Lou, if you had _seen_ what they did to Danny. To _Danny._ What do you expect me to do, restrain them gently? Read them their rights? Offer them coffee and malasadas? Seriously Lou, they tortured _Danny._ They turned him into a _heroin addict._ "

Lou reached over and gripped his shoulder. "I know. I know what they did but you are not them and I expect you to do the _right_ thing dependant on the circumstances. If you can't say you're gonna do that, you shouldn't be here at all."

Steve ignored him for a moment, because all he wanted to do was tear Blake apart with his bare hands, one piece at a time. He wanted to listen to him beg for his life, he wanted to sneer in his face then slit his throat, he wanted to…Oh yeah, but they were the good guys.

Lou was right. Of course Lou was right. "Okay, we'll try to take him alive," he spat. It actually hurt to say it.

"Guys?" Kono's voice, accompanied by a burst of static, cut through the airwaves. "I've got a vehicle approaching, 200 meters from your position. Black Bentley Continental. Tinted windows- no visual on the occupants."

Steve shifted slightly, trying to get eyes on the car, adrenaline ramping up instantly. "Right, this could be it. Hold tight, let's see who's inside."

….

Danny lay on his side in Steve's bed, staring at the wall.

He felt weak and raw and exposed.

It was the first time he'd awoken alone since they'd brought him here, the first time Steve hadn't been here to reassure him. He knew his partner had gone after Blake, he'd been dimly aware of the conversation with Chin…but he _needed_ him.

It was pathetic. He hated this, he hated what he'd become. Steve's words went round and round in his mind. They had cut deep, and he was right. Danny _hadn't_ tried to fight. He had never thought for a single moment that he had a hope in hell of beating this. His desire for the drug was all-consuming. He _needed_ it so badly, still, even after all these days. He needed that escape because this world of shame and hurt was just too much.

But now he _wanted_ to fight, he really did. He wanted be the person he was before, that person who Steve clearly wanted back so badly, that person who was loved by his family; the father, the partner, the friend. He just didn't know if that person even existed anymore. He was afraid the old Danny Williams had died in that basement.

The clinging memory of that perfect, euphoric escape, that peace and tranquillity, was ingrained into his very being and his body craved it more than anything else. It _pulled_ at him.

He wished Steve was there right then because he felt so very weak. He needed him, with his unerring faith, strength and conviction. He was the only one who would shake him, yell in his face and tell him ' _no'._

His gut spasmed, mean and sharp, and he groaned as the _want_ screamed through his body again. He couldn't do this, he couldn't fight it alone. He _couldn't._

There was a soft knock at the door, then in came Max. He walked over to the bed then stood awkwardly, arms by his sides, blister pack of pills in his hand.

Danny suddenly felt scared, because for the first time he wanted to _try_ to fight, but for the first time he also had a real chance to run, because Max's well-meaning logic and bag full of drugs would simply _not_ be enough to stop him if he lost control.

"Detective Williams" Max was saying, "I am glad to see you are awake. I am currently responsible for your welfare and am happy to offer you assistance with managing your on-going symptoms in the form of medication to alleviate your current suffering _and_ distraction by means of a board game of your choosing."

Danny wasn't listening. Danny was looking at the open door Max had left behind him.

He started to breathe hard, shaking his head slowly from side to side. The pain rose up inside him again and he doubled over, moaning. He could hear Max talking again, droning on about over-the-counter medication. He had to get away.

He pushed back the covers and stumbled unsteadily out of bed, towards the door, ignoring Max's insistent objections.

The demon inside him, the one that Blake had foisted upon him, cheered at the prospect of freedom and that sweet, sweet escape. But he didn't want to do it, he didn't want to let Steve down, let _everyone_ down. He wanted his life back. At the last minute he turned away from the bedroom door, staggering instead into Steve's en-suite and slamming the door behind him. He locked it, leaning heavily against the door, panting, trembling from head to foot.

He could hear Max moving around uncertainly outside.

This was okay. This was safer. He was behind a locked door and Max was right on the other side. There was no easy way out of here. He could ride it out here until Steve got back.

He sank down onto the toilet, buried his head in his shaking hands.

The _need_ hit him again, harsh and undeniable. He shivered violently.

 _Can't have it._ _No_ _way out._ He told himself, biting his lip so hard it bled.

A fresh breeze blew softly across the room, carrying with it the sweet scent of plumeria and the sharp salt tang of the sea.

He looked over at the open window.

 **Yikes! Hiding. Please review.**


	29. TRIBUTE 3: EUPHORIA (chapter 13)

**Thank you so much for the reviews, making me smile a big fat smile (so far...)**

EUPHORIA

CHAPTER 13

Danny walked along the sidewalk as steadily as he could on legs that felt like jelly. His head was down, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his slacks to conceal their perpetual trembling. He was thankful he'd gone to bed fully clothed so it was only the fact he wore no shoes that made him stand out like a sore thumb….from a distance at least. He was painfully aware that his pale, bruised face and the shivers that periodically racked his body would set alarm bells ringing for most. His breaths came in shallow puffs as he forced himself along, stuttering to a halt when the pain became too much.

He had no idea where he was going. He had no plan. He was trying to _think_ and that was something that was a pretty challenging task in itself because his head was spinning, his thoughts overwhelmed by the thing he was craving. He hadn't even made a conscious decision to climb out of the window, it had just _happened_. He told himself it was because he had felt trapped, he'd needed air, he'd needed space. That was why he'd pulled it open wide, climbed down the _trellis_ for God's sake. Since when did he do anything like that voluntarily? Steve was gonna kill him.

He tried to distract himself from the things his body was telling him to do. He repeated Steve's little pep speech in his mind, over and over. He _did_ have the strength to fight. He _could_ choose Grace and Charlie, all his friends. His partner. He could do it.

But then what was he doing right now? He was fucking struggling, that's what he was doing.

There was a traitorous thought hovering at the edge of his mind. He was trying to suppress it, he really was. _Maybe one more hit was the answer_. Just one. Just a _small_ one. One _last_ one. No more after that. One little hit, lose the pain, get back to Steve's in time for a lecture about ditching Max. He could claim he just went for a walk, maybe they wouldn't even notice. He'd have the utter hell of withdrawal to go through from scratch, sure, but at least he knew what to expect now. He'd take Max's drugs in spades, make Steve stay with him, _sit on him_ , if he had to _._ The shit with Blake would be over and he'd have his partner's full attention. He'd kick it no problem next time round. It made sense. He'd get his family back yet. Just not _now._ He wasn't strong enough _now._

He shook his head because he was an intelligent man who had seen a lot of things in his day. He recognized the argument, the excuses, the reasoning in his head for exactly what they were. An attempt to justify the unjustifiable. But that knowledge didn't make the thoughts any less compelling.

He loathed himself with a deep, dark passion.

And he had another reason to hate himself now, something new. He had been dwelling. Blake had said he wanted Danny to walk in Dobbs' shoes; that was one of the last things Danny could remember from _before._ And the man had got his wish. Damn it but the bastard had actually taught him a lesson.

Danny had looked down his nose at heroin addicts many a time during his career. Sure, most of them hadn't had it forced on them like he had. For whatever stupid reason they had chosen to start. Poverty. Boredom. Escape from their own miserable realities. Whatever. But once they were hooked and had subsequently turned to crime to fund their habit, that right there was where he'd interacted with them as a cop the most and he had _not_ been a fan. Unpredictable, violent, inconsistent, unreliable. The one that was the chatty, helpful perp one day was as likely as not to try to stab you with a dirty needle the next day. He had hated dealing with them. Hated _them_ in a lot of ways.

Now he was one of them.

He hated himself all the more for not understanding before, for _knowing_ but not _getting_ how it _twists_ your mind, messes up your priorities, changes who you are. Steve was right, he couldn't let himself think about his kids. It was still true. Not now, not yet, not until this was all sorted out. Trying to measure his love for them up against his body's new need…therein lay the path to insanity.

He suddenly became aware there was a car driving beside him, slowly. He bowed his head further, shooting surreptitious glances through his eyelashes.

 _Shit._ An HPD patrol car.

He kept walking, pretended he hadn't noticed, feeling like nothing more than a common criminal.

"Detective Williams?"

Pua. _Shit,_ it was Pua. Danny didn't know what to do. He had to try to seem normal. He sidled up to the car as it came to a halt and stood by the driver's window, averting his face like he was looking for something. Someone. Anything. At least Pua couldn't see his feet when he was this close. Maybe he hadn't noticed his socks, the way he was walking, maybe.

"Detective Williams? You okay? You don't look so good. Hope you don't mind me saying."

Shit. "P-Pua. Hey," he rasped. "Yeah. F-flu. I think."

He shot a glance at the young officer, then looked away fast when he saw the way he was being scrutinized.

"That's bad luck, especially right after the Anthony Blake thing. Looks like he gave you a hard time too. We were tearing up the island looking for you and Commander McGarrett last week. It was quite a relief when we got to that house to back the guys up and you'd all already left, I can tell you. Thought for sure you'd be coming out on stretchers after being gone for three days, at the very least, not getting straight back on the job. You 5-0 guys are real tough. Guess you were keen to go after Blake once you'd been released, right?

Danny couldn't help the high-pitched, nervous giggle that slipped out. "Y-yeah. That's right."

"Cool. You guys got any leads on Blake?"

"A few." He said vaguely.

He could feel Pua's eyes on the side of his face and he started to breathe faster. He felt like Pua could _see_ what he was. He leant against the car, legs starting to sag.

"You sure you're okay? You look…sick."

Danny shrugged, concentrating on staying upright. "Just needed some air," he managed to say.

Pua was silent for a few beats. "Well, I'm not leaving you here, you look like you're about to fall over. Where were you heading? We're close to Commander McGarrett's house. Is that where you came from?"

Danny was struck dumb for a moment. This was too hard. He had no idea what to say. Maybe he _should_ just go back to Steve's.

But his distress was ramping up his cravings.

Before he even knew what he was going to say, the words were out of his mouth. "P-Palace. The Palace. Got some….work to do." After all, he didn't need to go to some lowlife for his one, quick, last ever fix. He just had to go to the Five-0 evidence locker.

"At seven pm on a Saturday? Seriously? It's that urgent? Hey, I thought your team was out on a bust. Dispatch told us to stay well out the way."

Danny nodded, tried to shoot him a smile. "Yeah. I wasn't well enough to go." That was true enough.

Pua frowned. "I'm pretty sure I should be taking you home. Or to a doctor or something. Will there be anyone else at your HQ? You know, in case you need anything?"

Danny nodded again. "Yeah." That was…not so true.

Pua looked at him doubtfully. "Well…..okay, I guess. Jump in."

…

Steve peered out through the narrow gap between two crates, gun in hand. He held his breath as the Bentley came to a stop twenty feet away from where he and Lou were hidden.

For long moments the vehicle sat there, engine idling, no sign of anyone making a move to get out. The windshield was dark. He couldn't see in but he could see _something_. Movement. His gripped his gun tightly, finger moving to the trigger.

The driver's door opened.

Steve's finger tightened….then released.

It wasn't Blake. Steve didn't recognise the guy at all. His lip curled in annoyance. He watched as the man stepped out of the vehicle and stood behind the still-open car door, scanning his surroundings slowly. He ducked his head back into the vehicle, leaning just inside.

He was speaking to someone. There was another person, someone in the passenger seat. Blake?

The man straightened back up, then looked directly at Steve and Lou's hiding place, brow furrowing.

Steve remained motionless. He _shouldn't_ be able to see them.

The man shifted his gaze after a beat, seeming to look up at the roof of a nearby building, a non-descript, brick-built warehouse. Then he got back into the car, pulling his cell from his pocket as he did so. He shut the door. Then…nothing. Nothing happened. They just sat there.

"What's he playing at?" mumbled Lou.

Steve shrugged. "We can't move in until we _know_ it's him. We can't show our hand in case this is a decoy."

Lou nodded, then frowned, patting at his trousers. "Sorry. Text."

Steve turned to look at him, incredulous. "Switch it off, Lou. It could give us away even on vibrate."

Lou pulled a face. "Don't patronise me, McGarrett. I was doing this shit while you were still a boy scout. I just forgot is all. Not like I've had much on my mind these last few days or anything."

Steve snorted, eyes fixing back on the vehicle. "Come on, Blake. Be in there, you complete and utter…."

"Steve…?" Lou cut in, his tone strained.

"What?" Steve hissed back, impatient.

"Steve, you got to get a look at this text. I'm guessing you're got one too."

Steve turned to glare at Lou, then snatched his cell, reading the message hastily.

 _Detective Williams has gone. My most sincere apologies. Max._

Steve did a double take. His heart dropped like a stone. It couldn't be…. He turned to stare at Lou in absolute horror. "Danny's gone?"

Lou's shook his head slowly, shock written all over his face. "I'm sorry man."

Steve was reeling. He placed a now-trembling hand up over his face. "Shit, Lou, I thought…I really thought I'd gotten through to him. I really thought…"

Eyes flicking between Steve's face and the car they were watching, Lou grabbed his shoulder. "Steve, you _did_ get through to him, we all saw that. But he's still all over the place. He could have woken up in a totally different frame of mind from the one you left in him. _Don't_ take it personally. It ain't your fault and it ain't his either. It's only been four days." He blew a soft breath out between pouted lips. " _Shit!_ So where would he go? Who would he go to?"

Steve shook his head. He simply didn't want to believe it. "He wouldn't go to _anyone,"_ he snapped after a short pause. "Maybe…maybe we should give him the benefit of the doubt until we know otherwise."

"Steve, why else would he bolt? I'm sorry, man." Lou squeezed Steve's shoulder. "Look, it's okay. If he's slipped, we find him and we do it over again. It's that simple. This ain't over till it's over and we'll get him back. Let's deal with Blake as fast as we can, then go get him."

Steve nodded absently, mind fixed firmly on his partner. He should _never_ have left him, should never have prioritized _anything_ over his partner's welfare, even if it _was_ getting Blake. _Shit._

"Steve?" hissed Lou. "Heads up, we've got two coming over from the boat."

Steve shook himself. He wanted nothing more than to run to find Danny, but he was committed. He had to do this, here, now. He had to get Blake. He tried to focus his mind. He followed Lou's pointed finger to watch as Gigantor and a second man made their way over to the Bentley, their eyes shifting around, alert.

"This had got to be it," Lou whispered. "Blake has to be in there cause this looks like his escort."

Steve nodded.

The passenger door opened. Steve held his breath.

Out stepped Blake, clad in immaculate suit and shades.

All of Steve's whirling thoughts and concerns were instantly channelled into a focused fury at the sight of the bastard who had sent Danny down this road to begin with. He wasn't going to get away with what he'd done.

"Chin, Kono, move in over here," Steve hissed into his radio. "Come up behind them so there's nowhere he can go."

"Already moving. Thirty seconds away," came Chin's breathy response.

"Ditto". Kono was right there with them too.

"How d'you want to play this?" Lou whispered.

Steve glared at him, eyes filled with a dangerous light. He got to his feet, drew his gun and strode out from behind the crates.

Lou was right on his heels, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath about dumbass gung-ho SEALS.

"Hold it, Blake!" Steve called.

The hated man and his entourage stopped in their tracks, turning to face him. Blake's driver drew his gun, but Blake raised his hand and the man lowered his weapon.

"Weapons on the ground, hands on your heads." Lou yelled, as Kono and Chin ran up to join them, guns drawn.

Steve couldn't help the wolfish grin that came to his face as Blake's men slowly, reluctantly, complied. Blake stood still in the midst of them, gaze fixed to Steve's. They had him. He had his hated enemy in the sights of his gun, just where he wanted him. One quick squeeze of the trigger…...

"How about it, Blake?" Steve growled. "Come on, give me a reason to take you out because there is literally _nothing_ I would like to do more. Go on…do it."

But Blake just smiled, his composure unaffected. He nodded courteously in greeting, appearing entirely unflustered, not intimidated in the slightest. That fact right there was enough to piss Steve off on its own, because the loathing that he _knew_ was written all over his face should have been enough to make the man wet his pants.

"McGarrett. What an unpleasant surprise. You look like shit, I have to say. Hey, where's that partner of yours? Where's Danny-boy?" Blake grinned, plainly goading Steve to react.

Steve _knew_ the man was trying to play him for whatever twisted reason, but he couldn't help the fiery rage that boiled up when he heard Danny's name pass Blake's lips. He rolled his head, gun hand shaking a little from the restraint he was having to dig deep to find because he was the good guy and he _couldn't_ shoot. Not like that. He gritted his teeth.

Blake wasn't finished. "Where's your partner, McGarrett? Do you even know? He's probably shooting up in some side alley right now, isn't he? You know you'll never be able to trust him again, don't you? You'll never be able to turn your back on him. I've re-wired his brain. There's only one thing that matters to him now and it sure as hell isn't you. You've lost him for good. Do all these fine people know what he is now?" he said, turning a slow circle and pointing at Lou, then Chin, then Kono.

"You _shut up_!" Steve growled, Blake's words hurting all the more because of the doubts in his mind that told him the man might actually be right.

Steve heard Lou's voice from behind him, cutting through the building haze of fury. "Steve, don't just stand there listening to his crap. You gonna move in and cuff him or will I, cause we ain't got all day."

Steve took a few deep breaths then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I've got it," he said. He holstered his weapon, pulled out his cuffs and took a step towards Blake, looking at the man's arrogant face in disgust. He stopped in his tracks. This was too easy. Blake was too cocky. Something felt wrong.

He narrowed his eyes, looked at Blake.

Blake smiled broadly, showing his teeth. He glanced over at the roof of the nearby warehouse. "Hey McGarrett. Didn't think I'd come without back-up did you?"

Steve frowned, then his eyes opened wide in realization. "Get down! EVERYBODY GET DOWN!"

 **Please review!**


	30. TRIBUTE 3: EUPHORIA (chapter 14)

EUPHORIA

CHAPTER 14

He felt like a passenger in his own body, watching helplessly as he got closer to his goal. He didn't want to do it, he didn't want to take it, but _nobody was stopping him_. Why the hell was no one stopping him? All the perceived barriers, the things he'd hoped would stand between him and his hit, fell by the wayside like dominoes, one at a time.

He had been damn sure Pua would stop him, knew the observant man could see all was far from well with him- it was glaringly obvious. Yet the young cop had brought him to the Palace, let him get out of the car. He was no doubt still out there, no doubt trying to phone Steve, but Steve's phone would be off. Even if it wasn't, Steve would be too late to stop him.

He didn't have keys, he didn't have his pass, he shouldn't have been even able to access the building. But he saw himself walk to the door, ring the bell, summon out-of-hours security. The security guy, Frank, knew him, knew who he was. Who he had been anyway. He didn't know what he'd become. Danny listened to the lies that tripped off his own tongue now like he'd been a liar all his life, all the same lies he'd told Pua.

Frank was concerned too, of course he was, but he let him in, took him to the Five-0 offices, unlocked the door. Offered to make him coffee, call him some help. Offered him _shoes._ But Frank had let himself be brushed off. Begrudgingly satisfied when Danny managed to produce a spare pair of loafers from his office, Frank had gone. He was probably phoning Steve too.

Now Danny found himself alone, unchaperoned, outside the evidence locker, his body's goal mere feet away. He stood there, staring, swaying slightly. He _couldn't_ shoot up, he told himself. He didn't have what he needed to make up the hit.

 _Steve's office,_ his mind supplied helpfully. Shit. Yes. Steve had syringes for the range of anti-biotic and tetanus shots of which the team seemed to need an endless supply. And he had a lighter, for their occasional post-case celebratory cigars. Danny just needed a spoon. There were any number of spoons in their kitchen.

There was nothing to stop him. No one to stop him.

He raised a shaking finger to the keypad.

No, there was one person left who could stop him. Only one, but that person was too weak. Too pathetic.

Danny's face crumpled. "No" he murmured, then cried out wordlessly in frustration, in self-loathing. He dropped his hand, curled his fingers into a fist. He punched the wall. He turned away, staggered towards his office, trying to escape the controlling urges that were screaming at him to go back, that felt like they were tearing him up from the inside out.

He saw his nameplate on his office door as he went in, the clay cop car on his desk that Grace had made him, so proud of her brave Danno. He saw the brand new framed photo of him and Grace and Charlie, smiling broadly together. He saw everything he used to be, everything that Blake had taken from him.

He turned and looked through the glass wall of his office to Steve's desk and empty chair across the way. _Steve_. His very last memory before the heroin was pushed into his veins and changed everything was Steve. His best friend, hanging by his wrists, face and body bruised and bloodied, stormy blue eyes fixed on his and full of guilt, as though he was somehow letting Danny down. And the first thing Danny had been aware of when he came back round again? His partner's arms around him, his soft words trying to comfort him.

Steve had done everything, _anything_ to try to help him and by coming _here_ to do _this_ , Danny had thrown it all in his face. He had been so wrapped up in his own pain and need he had barely even thought of Steve. He had never asked how badly Blake had hurt him, had never asked if he was okay. Steve who, right now, was facing down Blake, the man who had done this to both of them, without him.

He leant on the desk, shaking. He couldn't do this, he couldn't be this person. He couldn't live like this.

There was only one option left.

He yanked open his desk drawer and pulled out his keys to the gun locker.

…

"EVERYBODY GET DOWN!"

No sooner were the words out of Steve's mouth than utter chaos descended, their controlled take-down dissolving into total mayhem as the buzz of high caliber bullets split the air.

Blake's final ace had been pulled from his sleeve.

"Sniper! We've got a sniper!" he heard Lou shout, even as the big man threw himself back towards the cover of the crates. Kono and Chin followed him, Chin's shotgun boom-booming as he fired first in the direction of the nearby warehouse rooftop the shots were coming from, then towards Blake and his crew.

Blake's men had picked up their guns, _they were heading for the boat._ Blake, the first to run, disappeared below deck in seconds flat.

Steve's vision tunneled, because no, just no _. No way_ was Blake getting away. It wasn't going to happen. The constant images of everything that animal had done to his partner that had haunted him for days drove him, fueled him. He didn't dive for cover, he didn't look towards the sniper. He yelled in fury and ran after Blake and his men, firing wildly as he did.

"STEVE, get down, you crazy mother…."

Steve was dimly aware of Lou shouting at him, dimly aware of his team opening fire too, trying to give him some sort of cover as he gave chase. He barely registered as Blake's men began to fall by the wayside, barely noticed the bullets whistling past his head from both directions. His focus was on one man alone.

The boat's engine was roaring now, the hated figure of Gigantor hastily untying its moorings. A blast from Chin's shotgun sent him flying backwards into the sea in a spray of blood. The sight of the monstrous man's demise set Steve's blood singing with pure bloodlust and aggression. Blake was going nowhere.

He ran, launched himself onto the yacht in a flying leap. He rolling up into a crouch in one smooth move, gun raised.

Shots pinged all around, fiberglass splinters flying left and right as the sniper zeroed in on him. He had no cover. He sprinted for the accommodation entrance as bullets peppered the deck at his feet. An upward glance revealed a fleeting glimpse of a slumped figure up in the pilothouse, another score for his team. There could only be Blake left.

Pushed by the sniper fire, drawn by the prospect of getting his hands on Blake, Steve crashed through the accommodation door without a moment's hesitation. He ran a mental image of the layout of the yacht interior through his mind as he moved. Where would Blake be, where would he go, where...

Steve came to a stuttering halt.

Blake was right there, just inside the door. He was standing, waiting for him, empty hands out to the sides.

"Wouldn't shoot an unarmed man, would you Commander?" said Blake, smiling his trademark smile.

Steve growled, loathing pouring from him. He stared into Blake's eyes, his mind replayed every last thing the bastard had done to Danny and, boy, did he want to kill him. No one would care, no one would question it. It would be better, _safer_ for Danny if he did. But he shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't.

A bead of sweat ran down his forehead as he fought to suppress his base desires. He was breathing hard through his nose, eyes wild. "Get down on your knees. Hands on your head!" he hissed through gritted teeth.

Blake began to comply, sinking slowly down to his knees, eyes blazing into Steve's. "Don't you want to fight me? You must want to punch me. How about it? Let's fight. No weapons. Just you and me. You know you want to."

Steve shook his head. "SHUT UP! HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!"

Blake began to raise his hands. "Oh come on. Don't you think you can take me? Don't you want to hurt me? I stuck that first needle in him, remember? The little prick deserved it."

Steve licked his lips and smiled venomously at that. "You think he deserved it?" he growled. "Did you know it was _me_ that killed Dobbs? It wasn't him at all. You strung out the wrong man, you twisted _bastard_."

Just for a second, Blake's cool demeanor slipped. A look of annoyance, of surprise, crossed his face, but it had gone almost as fast as it appeared. "No matter. I'm pretty sure what I did hurt you as much as it's hurt him. Even if you get of here alive, even if I end up in prison… you'll still have a junkie for a partner."

That was it, that was his limit. Steve lowered his weapon, straightened up, went to throw his gun aside, _needing_ to tear the man apart with his bare hands.

 _What the hell is the matter with you!_ Steve could almost hear Danny's furious voice screaming in his head. But Blake was the reason Danny wasn't _actually_ here screaming at him, and bitching about boats, and just…having his back, just like he was meant to. Like he had said he always would.

Steve hesitated, torn.

Blake grabbed the opportunity of Steve's momentary lapse with both hands. With a wordless shout, he launched himself upwards and rushed at Steve, drawing a knife from the back of his belt.

Acting purely on instinct, Steve straightened his weapon, aimed wildly and pulled the trigger.

Blake slumped to the floor bearing a brand new 9mm hole in his forehead.

Steve stood, staring, _shaking,_ breathing heavily, watching the widening pool of blood on the carpet. Blake was dead. Steve shook his head, because that simply wasn't enough. It was too easy, too quick. Blake should have _suffered_.

Growling in frustration, Steve knelt over Blake, pulling him up off the floor by the front of his shirt. He glared into his deadening eyes, then punched his face once, non-commitally. Experimentally. It felt good. He punched him again. Then again. Then he lost it, blow after blow pounding into the dead man's face, for every single thing he had done to Danny and to him. He punched him for beating them, he punched him from stringing Danny out, for lying to them, for showing them no mercy. He punched him for all the pain and indignity Danny had suffered over the last four days. He punched him because Danny was gone again, they still hadn't won him back.

And that was what stopped him. He remembered, through the haze of uncontrolled fury….Danny needed him, _now._

He dropped Blake on the floor, stumbling backwards, shaking his head at the realization he had been wasting his time pounding seven shades of shit out of a man he had already killed.

But it had felt so good.

Taking a long look at Blake's limp corpse, Steve wiped his bloody hands on his cargo pants. He took a few deep, calming breaths.

He had to find Danny. No matter what he was going to find, he had to find Danny. But there was still the sniper to deal with. Slowly, carefully now, Steve eased himself towards the door to the deck. He lowered himself down into a crouch then stuck his head out for a look. And ducked back fast as a well-aimed shot sent chips of fiberglass flying right where his head had just been.

He activated his radio. "Lou, Chin, Kono; report."

"BOSS!" It was Kono and she sounded strained. "You get him?"

"Yes, affirmative. Report, Kono."

"Steve, we're ok but we're almost out of ammo. We're totally pinned down. HPD back-up are enroute, ETA five-minutes but if he decides to move in…I don't know if we can hold out that long. He's got to have the contents of an armory up there with him."

Steve closed his eyes for a moment, because this still had the potential to go seriously wrong. He checked his own weapon- he'd been firing without a whole lot of thought as he ran for the boat.

"OK. OK, I've half a clip left. I'll come ashore, see if I can circle round…"

"Steve just STAY DOWN, stay where you are!" came Lou's gruff voice. "This guy is a good shot and your weapon has nothing like the range of whatever the hell he's using. We can't even get a clear shot at him- he's got good cover up there. HPD are five minutes out, they should be able to take him out from a different angle while he's focused on us. Just stay down, no more damn heroics."

Steve slumped back into the doorway, rested his head against the wall. Lou was right. Five minutes. Just five minutes. But in that five minutes, Danny could have shot up. Or, in his state of mind, he could have tried to get heroin from the wrong person, he could end up with a bullet in his brain. Every bad guy on the island knew Five-0. Who the hell would believe Danny wasn't just trying to set them up? They'd just kill him, he was sure of it. _Shit._

He suddenly felt empty, drained. The last few days had been pure hell and, after all that, Danny had run at the first opportunity. He wasn't himself, Steve got that, but still….it felt like a betrayal. After everything they had gone through together, after everything the team had done for him, why couldn't he just _try_ to fight. He was the strongest, most stubborn man Steve knew- how could he let himself be beaten by a weekend of abuse in a basement? How could he value the effects of heroin over his kids? Over their partnership? Steve turned his head, looked back at Blake's body with pure, unadulterated hate. He closed his eyes, feeling sick. Feeling like he'd lost a brother.

Emotion threatened, a lump rising in his throat, and he shut down his thoughts, fast. He made himself listen, stay in the moment.

He listened to the sniper's shots, more sporadic now everyone was doing the sensible thing for once and laying low. He winced as one hit the door inches from his head. A splinter of fiberglass hit his cheek. He raised a hand, touched his face, then looked at the blood on his fingers.

A different sound made him look back up. Another weapon was being fired. A different weapon, further away. Behind the warehouse? HPD! Back-up had arrived, than goodness. He frowned. It sounded like an assault rifle. An M16? Maybe a Mark 18? Something like that. Not exactly standard HPD issue, more Five-0's style. SWAT? That would be some fast mobilization if it was.

Two bursts of gunfire from the new weapon and then….nothing. It was over.

He listened to the silence for long moments then closed his eyes. He felt exhausted. He was aching all over. He'd had enough and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into a deep, dark hole. But now he had to find Danny, physically force his partner back into…custody…for want of another word. If Danny had taken a hit, self-administered….Steve didn't think he would be able to look him in the face. Yeah, Danny needed help. Yeah, it wasn't his fault. But still…..

"Steve. STEVE! You've got to see this, man." It was Lou's voice, and he sounded helluva jovial given the circumstances.

Steve steeled himself, climbed wearily to his feet and stepped out from his cover.

He looked up at the roof of the warehouse. He could just make out the shape of the sniper, upper body now hanging limply over the edge of the roof. He was far away but his body shape was distinctive. It was the second man who had helped Blake torture him and Danny. That was it. That was the full set, dead. That was good.

It didn't help. He still felt empty. Desolate.

His gaze moved to the two figures making their way towards them from the other side of the warehouse, distorted by the heat-haze rising from the concrete beneath them. Steve watched dully, grateful but entirely disinterested. His eyes fixed first on the larger man and he recognized Pua's unmistakable outline. And with him was….

Steve's jaw dropped.

Walking with an unsteady but determined gait towards him, dressed in slacks and shirt, TAC vest on askew, assault rifle hanging down by his side, was his partner.

Steve stared in utter disbelief. " _Danny?_ Danny!"

He jumped clumsily from the yacht and started to run towards Danny. Slowly at first, still not quite believing his eyes, but then he sped up, sprinting as fast his legs would carry him. He saw his partner's face as he got closer- white as a sheet and sweating, visible tremors running through his body.

Steve ran past Pua, barely acknowledging him. The young cop shrugged, made his way towards the rest of the Five-0 team who were watching with broad smiles on their faces.

Steve grasped Danny by the shoulders as he reached him, not knowing whether to hug him or shake him. "You…it was _you_ that got the shooter?" he said in utter astonishment. "Danny! What are you _doing_ here… how did you even….what the hell were you _thinking_ , running out on Max like that?

Danny stared up at Steve, bleary-eyed. "I-I'm sorry. It was a mistake, but I guess…I guess now I decided to fight. And I'm the still the back-up...right?" he rasped, sounding dazed. He began to sway on his feet, wiped out by his efforts.

Steve clutched his shoulders tight, held him steady. He gazed into those tired blue eyes, scarcely daring to believe what he was seeing, what he was hearing. But, somehow, Danny was _here_. He was clearly still rattling, still hurting; it was obvious. But he was _here_. He _had_ run away, but he had come back by choice. He wasn't shooting up in some random alleyway...he'd come to back them up.

Making a choked sound, Steve wrapped his arms around his partner and squeezed him tight, completely ignoring the resultant pain in his cracked ribs. He smiled from ear to ear, tears welling in his eyes.

"Yeah, you're the back-up," he huffed, voice shaking with emotion. "Don't you forget it."

 **There ya go, no more cliffhangers, you cliffhanger haters! It's all over bar the epilogue (and the Tribute reveal...although I think everyone guessed it already!).**

 **Please review...I want to know what you thought. Really. I think.**


	31. TRIBUTE 3: EUPHORIA (chapter 15)

**Blown away by the reviews, thank you all so much! I've fixed a couple of howling mistakes in the last chapter (no, I didn't get the final version beta'd. Again. D'oh!).**

 **So, this tribute finally draws to a close. When I started posting it was 'finished' but it was only 7 chapters long. IC's gentle poking and very kindly phrased versions of 'This is awful, fix it' made me try harder, so thank you IC. And damn it she's always right!**

 **Here, have an obligatory epilogue.**

EUPHORIA

CHAPTER 16

Steve sat propped against the headboard of his bed, a pillow jammed behind his back, legs stretched out in front of him. He glanced down at Danny. His partner was deep in an exhausted sleep beside him, curled up under the covers. How many times had this scene replayed itself over the last five days? He had lost count, but this time it felt different. Danny actually looked relaxed, his face peaceful in his slumber. The seemingly perpetual leaden weight finally began to lift from Steve's shoulders.

The rising sun sent narrow beams of soft orange light into the quiet darkness of the bedroom just like it had every morning before, but this time it fit. A new day was dawning and Steve had hope in his heart. He felt like the end was finally within reach.

Steve was so proud he could burst. Whenever he thought of Danny's grand entrance at the harbor a helpless smile split his face. They were on the same side again, fighting shoulder to shoulder. Like that, they could take on anything. Blake and his gang, heroin withdrawal…anything.

But he couldn't relax, not yet, not quite. He needed to talk to Danny properly, find out where his head was at. No matter what had happened the day before, he couldn't expect Danny to draw a line in the sand and just be okay. Conquering the addiction would be an on-going process littered with ups and downs. But that was alright, because now he _knew_ they could do it. Danny had fought his own private battle, no one had helped him, no one had physically held him back from what his body wanted…. and he had won.

Steve had only one lingering doubt left about what the final outcome of their misadventure would be. He had a suspicion that Danny hadn't escaped with the original intention of coming to help them, he didn't think it was that clear cut. Steve had thought about asking Chin to check the Palace CCTV to see what Danny had been up to. He had decided against it. He was pretty sure he knew already. If the partners' bond of trust was to remain unbroken, he needed for Danny to come clean about what had really happened himself.

Steve had pieced together some of what had gone on from what Max had described of Danny's exit, from the voicemails he'd had waiting when he switched on his cell; from Pua and one from Frank Akuai, a security guy from the Palace. They were both concerned, both saying Danny looked sick and seemed confused, out of it. He would have to remember to thank them for looking out for his partner when he'd been so sick with the 'flu'.

But he and Danny hadn't yet had a chance to talk.

After the chaotic takedown at the harbor, Danny had been ready to drop, virtually non-verbal. When the screaming sirens signifying the arrival of the rest of their HPD back-up had approached, Danny had backed away. Just by a couple of stumbling steps, but Steve had read his reaction correctly. He wasn't ready for this.

Steve had nodded to Chin, Kono and Lou, trusting them to clean up the mess, fill out the forms, make it all go away. He had slung an arm around Danny's shoulders and led him to the Silverado without a word. Danny's eyes had closed the second he slumped down into the passenger seat. After that, they had opened for long enough for Danny to deliver a mumbled but heartfelt apology to Max when they arrived back at Steve's, before closing for the duration. He had slept all night- the first time that had happened since Blake.

Danny shifted a little now as a shaft of light moved slowly across his face. His eyes blinked open sleepily.

"Hey," said Steve, voice soft and low.

Danny squinted up at him, not quite awake. "Hey."

"I've got some fruit juice here for you. You want it?"

Danny frowned then nodded. He pushed himself up in the bed, groaning a little at the effort. He leaned back against the headboard beside Steve then took the glass from Steve's hand, took a sip.

Steve watched him, waiting patiently for him to come round.

Danny drained his glass, passed it back. He rubbed the back of his neck and huffed out an uncertain laugh. "So…er. We keep sleepin' together like this, people are gonna talk."

Steve snorted in amusement. "Nothing new buddy, nothing new. So…. how you doing this morning?" It wasn't what he wanted to ask, but it was a more neutral thing to say than 'So, do you still want heroin this morning?'

Danny heard the real question anyway. He looked the other way, rubbing the yellowing track marks on his arm self-consciously.

"Danny, it's okay," said Steve, his voice gentle. "I'm not expecting miracles here. I just want to know where we're at, that's all. You can be honest."

"Steve. Fuck. Yes I still want it. I do and it's scary as hell. Is that what you want to hear?" Danny's voice was quiet, his eyes fixed on the other side of the room.

Steve dropped a hand onto his arm. "I just want to hear the truth, buddy."

"The truth? I feel dirty. I feel like everything's fucked up. I miss my kids like crazy but I don't want to see them while I still feel like this. I guess I don't want to..corrupt them, or contaminate them. Or something, okay that makes no sense, but you know what I mean." It was the most Danny had said since Blake had caught them and there was a distinct waver to his voice.

Steve squeezed his arm. "It's okay. I get it, I do, and there's no pressure, no timetable. But you've got to know you're doing great and you're in the home straight. What you did yesterday…. I'm proud of you buddy."

"Well you shouldn't be." Danny croaked.

"Why?" Steve was pretty damn sure he knew where this was going and his heart began to beat a little faster.

"Steve, I don't want you to think… I, when I ran….it wasn't…I wasn't coming to back you up. I'm sorry. I was…." He tailed off, then glanced at Steve, just for a second. There was fear in his eyes. He was plainly dreading the reaction Steve might have to what he was going to say. That told Steve everything he needed to know. He steeled himself.

Danny raised his head a little, squared his jaw. "I was going to take heroin from the evidence locker."

Steve closed his eyes. His suspicions had been spot on. Now he was torn between relief that Danny was being totally upfront and horror at what he'd nearly done. He kept his voice even. "Okay. What stopped you?"

Danny gave him a shy little smile, then looked away again. "I couldn't do it. I guess I found the balls not to be that person. I kept hearing your voice telling me I was strong enough to fight. Damn it I hate it when you're right." He laughed a nervous laugh then bit his lip, breath hitching. His face screwed up, his eyes filling. "Look, I'm sorry, Steve, I'm so sorry. I know I really fucked up. I'll hand in my badge, I can't expect you to want me in Five-0 after this."

Steve squeezed his arm again. "Hey, hey, Danny, _stop_. You made the right choice when it counted. _And_ you're being honest with me now. That means I still trust you and that means _everything_. No one can ask for more than that."

A tear ran down Danny's cheek. He shook his head. "I'm just so fucking sorry for… for _everything_. The way I've been acting, for running out on you." He waved a hand, pointing loosely round the room. "For smashing up your house."

Steve shook his head. "No, Danny, none of that matters, none of that was you. I know it wasn't you. The guy that comes to back me up when he can hardly see straight and his body's telling him to go find drugs? That's you. This is you, here, now, being as honest and decent as you always have been. You still want to throw a glass at my head? Cause I might have a problem with you then..." He shoulder-bumped Danny playfully.

"No, I don't want to throw a glass at your head." Danny shot him a watery smile.

Steve smiled back. "None of it was your fault. You still belong at Five-0. We're lucky to have you."

Danny glanced at him again and maybe there was something more like hope in his eyes. "Well, I would still like to apologize. And I want to thank you, thank _everyone_ , but I need to start with you. But 'thank you' seems to me to be somewhat deficient, so I don't really know what to say."

"It was nothing, buddy," said Steve with a self-depreciating shake of the head. "Nothing I wouldn't do for anyone else."

Danny laughed then. "Nothing you wouldn't do for…? Steve, I would love for you to tell me I dreamt it, but I'm pretty damn sure you wiped my ass. If that's not above and beyond the call of duty, I don't know what the hell is. At least, and I never thought I'd be saying this, but I hope it _was_ you if I didn't dream it. Please tell me it was you and not Kono."

There was a wry smile on Steve's face now. "Danny, I….there's no need to get into specifics, okay? I did what needed to be done, it's as simple as that. And okay, maybe I wouldn't do what I did for _anyone_. You got me. Look, you know I'm no good at this…sharing…stuff, but... Well, you're my best friend and I watched you go through hell and I couldn't do a damn thing to stop it. And..Jesus, Danny, you took that on willingly to protect me? You let Blake think you killed Dobbs! There's nothing, literally nothing, I wouldn't have done to try to help you. And I'm not finished. I'm here for you, whatever it takes to get you back to where you need to be. Understood?"

Danny opened his mouth to protest, or to thank him again, or to apologize again, or maybe all three. There was so much he wanted to say. Too much. He felt overwhelmed and his mouth began to twitch, more tears welling.

Steve squeezed his arm again.

"You know I hate you, right?" Danny managed to croak.

Steve nodded solemnly, deadpan. "Of course. It's become one of the principal constants in my life."

Danny snorted, then glanced up at Steve shyly. He cleared his throat, trying to gather together a semblance of control. "Well you- you gave me the strength to fight. That was all you. And you know what? I'm not gonna take it again. I do still want it but I _won't_. I'm not going to do that to you, or my kids, or the rest of the team. I just...I thought you should know that. I owe you everything." His voice still wavered but his determined tone warmed Steve's heart.

Steve shook his head. "You found that strength all on your own, don't take that away from yourself. I've got your back though, partner. I know it's still tough and I know there'll be tough times ahead. You'll have bad days. So I'm here for you, yeah? You're staying here for as long as you need to. Longer in fact. You're staying here till I say otherwise. And after that, you call me when you need me. Whenever, any time of the day or night, I'll be there. And you owe me nothing. It was my fault that..."

"No!" Danny cut in, held up a finger. "Just _stop_. Do me a favor, huh? Screw the guilt trip Steve. None of it was your fault. It was a shitty situation and I guess we both just did what we thought was best at the time. Hindsight is for losers. And what you did for me….Steve, you saved me. I could have lost my kids over this. You took a tough choice and God willing you've stopped that from happening. I owe you everything. I love you, man."

Steve stared at him, his own eyes filling, struggling to find the right thing to say. He opened his mouth to say something uncharacteristically affectionate, then had a sudden change of heart. He cleared his throat. "You know, we could sit here all day apologizing and appreciating the hell out of each other, or we could just agree that we're still good then go downstairs, make some coffee and drink a toast to the demise of that bastard Blake. Then we'll just take the day as it comes. What do you think?"

Danny raised his eyebrows, then pulled a contemplative face. He rubbed his nose. "I think- I think coffee sounds good."

"Let's go, partner" Steve got up and extended a hand down to Danny. Danny took his hand and let Steve pull him to his feet.

Steve slung an arm over his shoulders. He grinned mischievously. "Hey, I've got some wheatgrass smoothie left. That'll be better for your guts than coffee."

Danny stared at him incredulously for a moment, then smiled. He knew what Steve was doing and that was damn fine with him. A return to something resembling normality sounded fantastic. He stuttered a few times before managing to form an appropriate response. "WHEATGRASS SMOOTHIE? What, are you trying to make me puke again? Are you insane? Don't you even _think_ about trying to give me that pre-masticated cow-food, Steven."

Steve's grin grew even wider.

 **THE END!**

 **As virtually everyone guessed, this was a tribute to…. The Starsky and Hutch ep 'The Fix'!** **It is IMO the BEST TV ep for bromance and hurt/comfort there ever has been. If you know of a better one, let me know because, oh boy, do I want to see it. If you've not seen it...WATCH IT! (And imagine it being played out with Danny and Steve...oh man. Peter Lenkov, PLEEEEASE do it. You know you want to...).**

 **The main elements I borrowed from the ep were…** **The forced heroin addiction,** **Steve/Starsky deciding no one can know what's happened, t** **he hurt/comfort bedroom scene (oh man, that one floats my boat), t** **he Steve/Starsky standing against the door stopping Danny/Hutch from escaping scene.**

 **Well, thank you for reading. Please drop me a review to get me motivated for more! Until next time... Aloha!**


End file.
